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rHE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


[See  page  230 

DUANE  HEARD  THE  PROPRIETOR  OF  THE  INN  ADDRESS  THE  MAN  AS 
COLONEL  LONGSTRETH 


?' 

* 


THE  LONE 

STAR  RANGER 

A Romance  of  the  Border 

BY 

ZANE  GREY 

AUTHOR  OF 

THE  LIGHT  OF  WESTERN  STARS, 
RIDERS  OF  THE  PURPLE  SAGE,  Etc. 


ILLUSTRATED 


M. 


NEW  YORK 

GROS8ET  & DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


Published  by  Arrangement  with  Harper  6c  Brothers 


COPYRIGHT.  1814.  BY  HAR.P3R  & Sk^iJjyH^jRS 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  A<1VBBR)OA 
tPUBLUHED  JANUARY.  1915 


TO 

CAPTAIN  JOHN  HUGHES 

AND  HIS 

TEXAS  RANGERS 


It  may  seem  strange  to  you  that  out  of  all  the  stories  I heard 
on  the  Rio  Grande  I should  choose  as  first  that  of  Buck  Duane — 
outlaw  and  gunman. 

But,  indeed,  Ranger  Coffee's  story  of  the  last  of  the  Duanes 
has  haunted  me,  and  I have  given  full  rein  to  imagination  and 
have  retold  it  in  my  own  way.  It  deals  with  the  old  law — the 
old  border  days — therefore  it  is  better  first.  Soon,  perchance, 
I shall  have  the  pleasure  of  writing  of  the  border  of  to-day, 
which  in  Joe  Sitter's  laconic  speech,  “ Shore  is  'most  as  bad  an' 
wild  as  ever!" 

In  the  North  and  East  there  is  a popular  idea  that  the  fron- 
tier of  the  West  is  a thing  long  past,  and  remembered  now  only 
in  stories.  As  I think  of  this  I remember  Ranger  Sitter  when  he 
made  that  remark,  while  he  grimly  stroked  an  unhealed  bullet 
wound.  And  I remember  the  giant  Vaughn,  that  typical  son 
of  stalwart  Texas,  sitting  there  quietly  with  bandaged  head,  his 
thoughtful  eye  boding  ill  to  the  outlay/  who  had  ambushed  him. 
Only  a few  months  have  passed  since  then — when  I had  my 
memorable  sojourn  with  you — and  yet,  in  that  short  time, 
Russell  and  Moore  have  crossed  the  Divide,  like  Rangers. 

Gentlemen, — I have  the  honor  to  dedicate  this  book  to  you, 
and  the  hope  that  it  shall  fall  to  my  lot  to  tell  the  world  the 
truth  about  a strange,  unique,  and  misunderstood  body  of  men 
• — the  Texas  Rangers — v/ho  made  the  great  Lone  Star  State 
habitable,  who  never  know  peaceful  rest  and  sleep,  who  are 
passing,  who  surely  will  not  be  forgotten  and  will  some  day 
come  into  their  own. 


Book  I 
THE  OUTLAW 


I 


LONE 


THE 

STAR  RANGER 

CHAPTER  I 

SO  it  was  in  him,  then  — an  inherited  fighting 
instinct,  a driving  intensity  to  kill.  He  was 
the  last  of  the  Duanes,  that  old  fighting  stock  of 
Texas.  But  not  the  memory  of  his  dead  father, 
nor  the  pleading  of  his  soft-voiced  mother,  nor  the 
warning  of  this  uncle  who  stood  before  him  now, 
had  brought  to  Buck  Duane  so  much  realization  of 
the  dark  passionate  strain  in  his  blood.  It  was  the 
recurrence,  a hundredfold  increased  in  power,  of  a 
strange  emotion  that  for  the  last  three  years  had 
arisen  in  him. 

“Yes,  Cal  Bain’s  in  town,  full  of  bad  whisky 
an’  huntin’  for  you,”  repeated  the  elder  man,! 
gravely. 

“It’s  the  second  time,”  muttered  Duane,  as  if 
to  himself. 

“Son,  you  can’t  avoid  a meetin’.  Leave  town 
till  Cal  sobers  up.  He  ain’t  got  it  in  for  you  when 
he’s  not  drinkin’.” 


3 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“But  what’s  he  want  me  for?”  demanded  Duane. 
“‘To  insult  me  again?  I won’t  stand  that  twice.” 
“He’s  got  a fever  that’s  rampant  in  Texas  these 
days,  my  boy.  He  wants  gun-play.  If  he  meets 
you  he’ll  try  to  kill  you.” 

Here  it  stirred  in  Duane  again,  that  bursting  gush 
of  blood,  like  a wind  of  flame  shaking  all  his  inner 
being,  and  subsiding  to  leave  him.  strangely  chilled. 
“Kill  me | What  for?”  he  asked. 

* ' Lord  knows  there  ain’t  any  reason.  But  what’s 
that  to  do  with  most  of  the  shootin’  these  days? 
Didn’t  five  cowboys  over  to  Everall’s  kill  one 
another  dead  all  because  they  got  to  jerkin’  at 
a quirt  among  themselves?  An’  Cal  has  no  reason 
to  love  you.  His  girl  was  sweet  on  you.” 

“I  quit  when  I found  out  she  was  his  girl.” 

“I  reckon  she  ain’t  quit.  But  never  mind  her 
or  reasons.  Cal’s  here,  just  drunk  enough  to  be 
ugly.  He’s  achin’  to  kill  somebody.  He’s  one  of 
them  four-flush  gun-fighters.  He’d  like  to  be 
thought  bad.  There’s  a lot  of  wild  cowboys 
who  ’re  ambitious  for  a reputation.  They  talk 
about  how  quick  they  are  on  the  draw.  They  ape 
Bland  an’  King  Fisher  an’  Hardin  an’  all  the  big 
outlaws.  They  make  threats  about  joinin’  the 
gangs  along  the  Rio  Grande.  They  laugh  at  the 
sheriffs  an’  brag  about  how  they’d  fix  the  rangers. 
Cal’s  sure  not  much  for  you  to  bother  with,  if  you 
only  keep  out  of  his  way.” 

“You  mean  for  me  to  run?”  asked  Duane,  in 
acorn. 

“I  reckon  I wouldn’t  put  it  that  way.  Just 
avoid  him.  Buck,  I’m  not  afraid  Cal  would  get 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


\,  ou  if  you  met  down  there  in  town.  You’ve  your 
father’s  eye  an’  his  slick  hand  with  a gun.  What 
I’m  most  afraid  of  is  that  you’ll  kill  Bain.” 

Duane  was  silent,  letting  his  uncle’s  earnest 
words  sink  in,  trying  to  realize  their  significance. 

“If  Texas  ever  recovers  from  that  fool  war  an’ 
kills  off  these  outlaws,  why,  a young  man  will  have 
a lookout,”  went  on  the  uncle.  “You’re  twenty- 
three  now,  an’  a powerful  sight  of  a fine  fellow, 
barrin’  your  temper.  You’ve  a chance  in  life. 
But  if  you  go  gun-fightin’,  if  you  kill  a man,  you’re 
ruined.  Then  you’ll  kill  another.  It’  11  be  the 
same  old  story.  An’  the  rangers  would  make  you 
an  outlaw.  The  rangers  mean  law  an’  order  for 
Texas.  This  even-break  business  doesn’t  work 
with  them.  If  you  resist  arrest  they’il  kill  you. 
If  you  submit  to  arrest,  then  you  go  to  jail,  an’ 
mebbe  you  hang.” 

“I’d  never  hang,”  muttered  Duane,  darkly. 

“I  reckon  you  wouldn’t,”  replied  the  old  man, 
“You’d  be  like  your  father.  He  was  ever  ready 
to  draw — too  ready.  In  times  like  these,  with  the 
Texas  rangers  enforcin’  the  law,  your  Dad  would 
have  been  driven  to  the  river.  An’,  son,  I’m  afraid 
you’re  a chip  off  the  old  block.  Can’t  you  hold 
in — keep  your  temper — run  away  from  trouble? 
Because  it  ’ll  only  result  in  you  gettin’  the  worst 
of  it  in  the  end.  Your  father  was  killed  in  a street- 
fight.  An’  it  was  told  of  him  that  he  shot  twice 
after  a bullet  had  passed  through  his  heart.  Think 
of  the  terrible  nature  of  a man  to  be  able  to  do 
that.  If  you  have  any  such  blood  in  you,  never  give 
it  a chance.” 


5 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“What  you  say  is  all  very  well,  uncle,”  returned 
Duane,  “but  the  only  way  out  for  me  is  to  run,  and 
I won’t  do  it.  Cal  Bain  and  his  outfit  have  already 
made  me  look  like  a coward.  He  says  I’m  afraid  to 
come  out  and  face  him.  A man  simply  can’t  stand 
that  in  this  country.  Besides,  Cal  would  shoot  me 
in  the  back  some  day  if  I didn’t  face  him.” 

“Well,  then,  what  ’re  you  goin’  to  do?”  inquired 
the  elder  man. 

“I  haven’t  decided — yet.” 

“No,  but  you’re  cornin’  to  it  mighty  fast.  That 
damned  spell  is  workin’  in  you.  You’re  different 
to-day.  I remember  how  you  used  to  be  moody 
an’  lose  your  temper  an’  talk  wild.  Never  was 
much  afraid  of  you  then.  But  now  you’re  gettin’ 
cool  an’  quiet,  an’  you  think  deep,  an’  I don’t  like 
the  light  in  your  eye.  It  reminds  me  of  your  father.  ’ ’ 

“I  wonder  what  Dad  would  say  to  me  to-day  if 
he  were  alive  and  here,”  said  Duane. 

“What  do  you  think?  What  could  you  expect 
of  a man  who  never  wore  9 glove  on  his  right  hand 
for  twenty  years?” 

“Well,  he’d  hardly  have  said  much.  Dad  never 
talked.  But  he  would  have  done  a lot.  And  I 
guess  I’ll  go  down-town  and  let  Cal  Bain  find  me.” 

Then  followed  a long  silence,  during  which  Duane 
sat  with  downcast  eyes,  and  the  uncle  appeared  lost 
in  sad  thought  of  the  future.  Presently  he  turned 
to  Duane  with  an  expression  that  denoted  resigna- 
tion, and  yet  a spirit  which  showed  wherein  they 
were  of  the  same  blood. 

“You’ve  got  a fast  horse — the  fastest  I know  of 
in  this  country.  After  you  meet  Bain  hurry  back 

'6 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


home.  I’ll  have  a saddle-bag  packed  for  you  and 
the  horse  ready.” 

With  that  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  went  into 
the  house,  leaving  Duane  to  revolve  in  his  mind 
his  singular  speech.  Buck  wondered  presently  if 
he  shared  his  uncle’s  opinion  of  the  result  of  a meet- 
ing between  himself  and  Bain.  His  thoughts  were 
vague.  But  on  the  instant  of  final  decision, 
when  he  had  settled  with  himself  that  he  would 
meet  Bain,  such  a storm  of  passion  assailed  him 
that  he  felt  as  if  he  was  being  shaken  with  ague. 
Yet  it  was  all  internal,  inside  his  breast,  for  his 
hand  was  like  a rock  and,  for  all  he  could  see,  not  a 
muscle  about  him  quivered.  He  had  no  fear  of  Bain 
or  of  any  other  man;  but  a vague  fear  of  himself,  of 
this  strange  force  in  him,  made  him  ponder  and 
shake  his  head.  It  was  as  if  he  had  not  all  to  say 
in  this  matter.  There  appeared  to  have  been  in 
him  a reluctance  to  let  himself  go,  and  some  voice, 
some  spirit  from  a distance,  something  he  was  not 
accountable  for,  had  compelled  him.  That  hour  of 
Duane’s  life  was  like  years  of  actual  living,  and  in  it 
he  became  a thoughtful  man. 

He  went  into  the  house  and  buckled  on  his  belt 
and  gun.  The  gun  was  a Colt  .45,  six-shot,  and 
heavy,  with  an  ivory  handle.  He  had  packed  it, 
on  and  off,  for  five  years.  Before  that  it  had  been 
used  by  his  father.  There  were  a number  of  notches 
filed  in  the  bulge  of  the  ivory  handle.  This  gun  was 
the  one  his  father  had  fired  twice  after  being  shot 
through  the  heart,  and  his  hand  had  stiffened  so 
tightly  upon  it  in  the  death-grip  that  his  fingers  had 
to  be  pried  open.  It  had  never  been  drawn  upon 

7 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


any  man  since  it  had  come  into  Duane’s  possession. 
But  the  cold,  bright  polish  of  the  weapon  showed 
how  it  had  been  used.  Duane  could  draw  it  with 
inconceivable  rapidity,  and  at  twenty  feet  he  could 
split  a card  pointing  edgewise  toward  him. 

Duane  wished  to  avoid  meeting  his  mother. 
Fortunately,  as  he  thought,  she  was  away  from  home. 
He  went  out  and  down  the  path  toward  the  gate. 
The  air  was  full  of  the  fragrance  of  blossoms  and  the 
melody  of  birds.  Outside  in  the  road  a neighbor 
woman  stood  talking  to  a countryman  in  a wagon; 
they  spoke  to  him;  and  he  heard,  but  did  not  reply 
Then  he  began  to  stride  down  the  road  toward  the 
town. 

Wellston  was  a small  town,  but  important  in  that 
unsettled  part  of  the  great  state  because  it  was  the 
trading-center  of  several  hundred  miles  of  territory. 
On  the  main  street  there  were  perhaps  fifty  build- 
ings, some  brick,  some  frame,  mostly  adobe,  and 
one-third  of  the  lot,  and  by  far  the  most  prosperous, 
were  saloons.  From  the  road  Duane  turned  into 
this  street.  It  was  a wide  thoroughfare  lined  by 
hitching-rails  and  saddled  horses  and  vehicles  of 
various  kinds.  Duane’s  eye  ranged  down  the 
street,  taking  in  all  at  a glance,  particularly  persons 
moving  leisurely  up  and  down.  Not  a cowboy  was 
in  sight.  Duane  slackened  his  stride,  and  by  the 
time  he  reached  Sol  White’s  place,  which  was  the 
first  saloon,  he  was  walking  slowly.  Several  people 
spoke  to  him  and  turned  to  look  back  after  they  had 
passed.  He  paused  at  the  door  of  White’s  saloon, 
took  a sharp  survey  of  the  interior,  then  step'  >ed 
inside. 


8 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


The  saloon  was  large  and  cool,  full  of  men  and 
noise  and  smoke.  The  noise  ceased  upon  his  en- 
trance, and  the  silence  ensuing  presently  broke  to 
the  clink  of  Mexican  silver  dollars  at  a monte  table. 
Sol  White,  who  was  behind  the  bar,  straightened  up 
when  he  saw  Duane;  then,  without  speaking,  he 
bent  over  to  rinse  a glass.  All  eyes  except  those  of 
the  Mexican  gamblers  were  turned  upon  Duane; 
and  these  glances  were  keen,  speculative,  question- 
ing. These  men  knew  Bain  was  looking  for  trouble; 
they  probably  had  heard  his  boasts.  But  what  did 
Duane  intend  to  do?  Several  of  the  cowboys  and 
ranchers  present  exchanged  glances.  Duane  had 
been  weighed  by  unerring  Texas  instinct,  by  men 
who  all  packed  guns.  The  boy  was  the  son  of  his 
father.  Whereupon  they  greeted  him  and  returned 
to  their  drinks  and  cards.  Sol  White  stood  with 
his  big  red  hands  out  upon  the  bar;  he  was  a tali, 
raw-boned  Texan  with  a long  mustache  waxed  tc 
sharp  points. 

“Howdy,  Buck,”  was  his  greeting  to  Duane.  He 
spoke  carelessly  and  averted  his  dark  gcr.e  for  an 
instant. 

“Howdy,  Sol,”  replied  Duane,  slowly.  “Say, 
Sol,  I hear  there’s  a gent  in  town  looking  for  me 
bad.” 

“Reckon  there  is,  Buck,”  replied  White.  “He 
came  in  heah  aboot  an  hour  ago.  Shore  he  was  some 
riled  an’  a-roarin’  for  gore.  Told  me  confidential 
a certain  party  had  given  you  a white  silk  scarf,  an’ 
he  was  hell-bent  on  wearin’  it  home  spotted  red.” 

“Anybody  with  him?”  queried  Duane. 

“Burt  an’  Sam  Outcalt  an’  a little  cowpundher 

9 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


I never  seen  before.  They-all  was  coaxin’  him  to 
leave  town.  But  he’s  looked  on  the  flowin’  glass, 
Buck,  an’  he’s  heah  for  keeps.” 

“IiWiy  doesn’t  Sheriff  Oaks  lock  him  up  if  he’s 
that  bad?” 

“Oaks  went  away  with  the  rangers.  There’s 
been  another  raid  at  Flesher’s  ranch.  The  King 
Fisher  gang,  likely.  An’  so  the  town’s  shore  wide 
open.” 

Duane  stalked  outdoors  and  faced  down  the 
street.  He  walked  the  whole  length  of  the  long 
block,  meeting  many  people — farmers,  ranchers, 
clerks,  merchants,  Mexicans,  cowboys,  and  women. 
It  was  a singular  fact  that  when  he  turned  to  retrace 
his  steps  the  street  was  almost  empty.  He  had  not 
returned  a hundred  yards  on  his  way  when  the 
street  was  wholly  deserted  A few  heads  protruded 
from  doors  and  around  comers.  That  main  street 
of  Wells  ton  saw  some  such  situation  every  few  days. 
If  it  was  an  instinct  for  Texans  to  fight,  it  was  also 
instinctive  for  them  to  sense  with  remarkable  quick- 
ness the  signs  of  a coming  gun-play.  Rumor  could 
not  fly  so  swiftly.  In  less  than  ten  minutes  every- 
body who  had  been  on  the  street  or  in  the  shops 
knew  that  Buck  Duane  had  come  forth  to  meet  his 
enemy.  | 

Duane  walked  on.  When  he  came  to  within  fifty 
paces  of  a saloon  he  swerved  out  into  the  middle  of 
the  street,  stood  there  for  a moment,  then  went 
ahead  and  back  to  the  sidewalk.  He  passed  on  in 
this  way  the  length  of  the  block.  Sol  White  was 
standing  in  the  door  of  his  saloon. 

“Buck,  I’m  a-tippin’  you  off,”  he  said,  quick  and 

IO 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


low- voiced.  “Cal  Bain’s  over  at  Everall’s.  If 
he’s  a -huntin’  you  bad,  as  he  brags,  he’ll  show’ 
there.” 

Duane  crossed  the  street  and  started  down.  Not- 
withstanding White’s  statement  Duane  was  wary 
and  slow  at  every  door.  Nothing  happened,  and 
he  traversed  almost  the  whole  length  of  the  block 
without  seeing  a person.  Everall’s  place  was  on 
the  comer. 

Duane  knew  himself  to  be  cold,  steady.  He  was 
conscious  of  a strange  fury  that  made  him  want 
to  leap  ahead.  He  seemed  to  long  for  this  en- 
counter more  than  anything  he  had  ever  wanted. 
But,  vivid  as  were  his  sensations,  he  felt  as  if  in  a 
dream. 

Before  he  reached  Everall’s  he  heard  loud  voices, 
one  of  which  was  raised  high.  Then  the  short  door 
swung  outward  as  if  impelled  by  a vigorous  hand. 
A bow-legged  cowboy  wearing  woolly  chaps  burst 
out  upon  the  sidewalk.  At  sight  of  Duane  he 
seemed  to  bound  into  the  air,  and  he  uttered  a 
savage  roar. 

Duane  stopped  in  his  tracks  at  the  outer  edge  of 
the  sidewalk,  perhaps  a dozen  rods  from  Everall’s 
door. 

If  Bain  was  drank  he  did  not  show  it  in  his  move- 
ment. He  swaggered  forward,  rapidly  closing  up 
the  gap.  Red,  sweaty,  disheveled,  and  hatless,  his 
face  distorted  and  expressive  of  the  most  malignant 
intent,  he  was  a wild  and  sinister  figure.  He  had 
already  killed  a man,  and  this  showed  in  his  de- 
meanor. His  hands  were  extended  before  him,  the 
right  hand  a little  lower  than  the  left.  At  evei  > 

2 II 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


step  he  bellowed  his  rancor  in  speech  mostly  curses. 
Gradually  he  slowed  his  walk,  then  halted.  A good 
twenty-five  paces  separated  the  men. 

“Won’t  nothin’  make  you  draw,  you  — — he 
shouted,  fiercely. 

“I’m  waitin’  on  you,  Cal,’:  replied  Duane. 

Bain’s  right  hand  stiffened  — moved.  Duane 
threw  his  gun  as  a boy  throws  a ball  underhand— 
a draw  his  father  had  taught  him.  He  pulled  twice, 
his  shots  almost  as  one.  Bain’s  big  Colt  boomed 
while  it  was  pointed  downward  and  he  was  falling. 
His  bullet  scattered  dust  and  gravel  at  Duane’s 
feet.  He  fell  loosely,  without  contortion. 

In  a flash  all  was  reality  for  Duane.  He  went  for- 
ward and  held  his  gun  ready  for  the  slightest  move- 
ment on  the  part  of  Bain.  But  Bain  lay  upon  his 
back,  and  all  that  moved  were  his  breast  and  his 
eyes.  How  strangely  the  red  had  left  his  face — 
and  also  the  distortion ! The  devil  that  had  showed 
in  Bain  was  gone.  He  was  sober  and  conscious. 
He  tried  to  speak,  but  failed.  His  eyes  expressed 
something  pitifully  human.  They  changed— rolled 
— set  blankly. 

Duane  drew  a deep  breath  and  sheathed  his 
gun.  He  felt  calm  and  cool,  glad  the  fray  was  over. 
One  violent  expression  burst  from  him.  “The 
fool!” 

When  he  looked  up  there  were  men  around  him. 

“Plumb  center,”  said  one. 

Another,  a cowboy  who  evidently  had  just  left 
the  gaming-table,  leaned  down  and  pulled  open 
Bain’s  shirt.  He  had  the  ace  of  spades  in  his  hand. 
He  laid  it  on  Bain’s  breast,  and  the  black  figure  on 

12 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


the  card  covered  the  two  bullet  - holes  just  over 
Bain’s  heart. 

Duane  wheeled  and  hurried  away.  He  heard 
another  man  say: 

“Reckon  Cal  got  what  he  deserved.  Buck 
Duane’s  first  gun-play.  Like  father  like  son!” 


CHAPTER  II 


A THOUGHT  kept  repeating  itself  to  Duane, 
and  it  was  that  he  might  have  spared  himself 
concern  through  his  imagining  how  awful  it  would 
be  to  kill  a man.  He  had  no  such  feeling  now.  He 
had  rid  the  community  of  a drunken,  bragging, 
quarrelsome  cowboy. 

When  he  came  to  the  gate  of  his  home  and  saw 
his  uncle  there  with  a mettlesome  horse,  saddled, 
with  canteen,  rope,  and  bags  all  in  place,  a subtle 
shock  pervaded  his  spirit.  It  had  slipped  his  mind — 
the  consequence  of  his  act.  But  sight  of  the  horse 
and  the  look  of  his  uncle  recalled  the  fact  that  he 
must  now  become  a fugitive.  An  unreasonable 
anger  took  hold  of  him. 

“The  d — d fool!”  he  exclaimed,  hotly.  “Meet- 
ing Bain  wasn’t  much,  Uncle  Jim.  He  dusted  my 
boots,  that’s  all.  And  for  that  I’ve  got  to  go  on 
the  dodge.” 

“Son,  you  killed  him — then?”  asked  the  uncle, 
huskily. 

“Yes.  I stood  over  him — watched  him  die.  I 
did  as  I would  have  been  done  by.” 

“I  knew  it.  Long  ago  I saw  it  cornin’.  But  now 
we  can’t  stop  to  cry  over  spilt  blood.  You’ve  got 
to  leave  town  an’  this  part  of  the  country.” 
“Mother!”  exclaimed  Duane. 

14 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“She’s  away  from  home.  You  can’t  wait.  I’ll 
break  it  to  her — what  she  always  feared.” 

Suddenly  Duane  sat  down  and  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands. 

“My  God!  Uncle,  what  have  I done?”  His 
broad  shoulders  shook. 

“Listen,  son,  an’  remember  what  I say,”  replied 
the  elder  man,  earnestly.  “Don’t  ever  forget. 
You’re  not  to  blame.  I’m  glad  to  see  you  take  it 
this  way,  because  maybe  you’ll  never  grow  hard  an’ 
callous.  You’re  not  to  blame.  This  is  Texas. 
You’re  your  father’s  son.  These  are  wild  times. 
The  law  as  the  rangers  are  laying  it  down  now  can’t 
change  life  all  in  a minute.  Even  your  mother, 
who’s  a good,  true  woman,  has  had  her  share  in 
making  you  what  you  are  this  moment.  For  she 
was  one  of  the  pioneers — the  fightin’  pioneers  of  this 
state.  Those  years  of  wild  times,  before  you  was 
born,  developed  in  her  instinct  to  fight,  to  save  her 
life,  her  children,  an’  that  instinct  has  cropped  out 
in  you.  It  will  be  many  years  before  it  dies  out  of 
the  boys  born  in  Texas.” 

“I’m  a murderer,”  said  Duane,  shuddering. 

“No,  son,  you’re  not.  An’  you  never  will  be. 
But  you’ve  got  to  be  an  outlaw  till  time  makes  it 
safe  for  you  to  come  home.” 

“An  outlaw?” 

“I  said  it.  If  we  had  money  an’  influence  we’d 
risk  a trial.  But  we’ve  neither.  An’  I reckon  the 
scaffold  or  jail  is  no  place  for  Buckley  Duane. 
Strike  for  the  wild  country,  an’  wherever  you  go 
an’  whatever  you  do — be  a man.  Live  honestly,  if 
that’s  possible.  If  it  isn’t,  be  as  honest  as  you  can. 

15 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


it  you  have  to  herd  with  outlaws  try  not  to  become 
bad.  There  are  outlaws  who  ’re  not  all  bad — many 
who  have  been  driven  to  the  river  by  such  a deal 
as  this  you  had.  When  you  get  among  these  men 
avoid  brawls.  Don’t  drink;  don’t  gamble.  I needn’t 
tell  you  what  to  do  if  it  comes  to  gun-play,  as  likely 
it  will.  You  can’t  come  home.  When  this  thing  is 
lived  down,  if  that  time  ever  comes,  I’ll  get  word 
into  the  unsettled  country.  It  ’ll  reach  you  some 
day.  That’s  all.  Remember,  be  a man.  Good- 
by.” 

Duane,  with  blurred  sight  and  contracting  throat, 
gripped  his  uncle’s  hand  and  bade  him  a wordless 
farewell.  Then  he  leaped  astride  the  black  and 
rode  out  of  town. 

As  swiftly  as  was  consistent  with  a care  for  his 
steed,  Duane  put  a distance  of  fifteen  or  eighteen 
miles  behind  him.  With  that  he  slowed  up,  and 
the  matter  of  riding  did  not  require  all  his  faculties. 
He  passed  several  ranches  and  was  seen  by  men. 
This  did  not  suit  him,  and  he  took  an  old  trail  across 
country.  It  was  a flat  region  with  a poor  growth 
of  mesquite  and  prickly-pear  cactus.  Occasionally" 
he  caught  a glimpse  of  low  hills  in  the  distance.  He 
had  hunted  often  in  that  section,  and  knew  where 
to  find  grass  and  water.  When  he  reached  this  high- 
er ground  he  did  not,  however,  halt  at  the  first  fav- 
orable camping-spot,  but  went  on  and  on.  Once 
he  came  out  upon  the  brow  of  a hill  and  saw  a con- 
siderable stretch  of  country  beneath  him.  It  had 
the  gray  sameness  characterising  all  that  he  had 
traversed.  He  seemed  to  want  to  see  wide  spaces — 
to  get  a glimpse  of  the  great  wilderness  lying  some- 

16 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

where  beyond  to  the  southwest.  It  was  sunset 
when  he  decided  to  camp  at  a likely  spot  he  came 
across.  He  led  the  horse  to  water,  and  then  began 
searching  through  the  shallow  valley  for  a suitable 
place  to  camp.  He  passed  by  old  camp-sites  that 
he  well  remembered.  These,  however,  did  not 
strike  his  fancy  this  time,  and  the  significance  of 
the  change  in  him  did  not  occur  at  the  moment. 
At  last  he  found  a secluded  spot,  under  cover  of 
thick  mesquites  and  oaks,  at  a goodly  distance  from 
the  old  trail.  He  took  saddle  and  pack  off  the  horse. 
He  looked  among  his  effects  for  a hobble,  and,  find- 
ing that  his  uncle  had  failed  to  put  one  in,  he  sud- 
denly remembered  that  he  seldom  used  a hobble, 
and  never  on  this  horse.  He  cut  a few  feet  off  the 
end  of  his  lasso  and  used  that.  The  horse,  unused 
to  such  hampering  of  his  free  movements,  had  to 
be  driven  out  upon  the  grass. 

Duane  made  a small  fire,  prepared  and  ate  his 
supper.  This  done,  ending  the  work  of  that  day, 
he  sat  down  and  filled  his  pipe.  Twilight  had  waned 
into  dusk.  A few  wan  stars  had  just  begun  to  show 
and  brighten.  Above  the  lowr  continuous  hum  of 
insects  sounded  the  evening  carol  of  robins.  Pres- 
ently the  birds  ceased  their  singing,  and  then  the 
quiet  was  more  noticeable.  When  night  set  in  and 
the  place  seemed  all  the  more  isolated  and  lonely 
for  that  Duane  had  a sense  of  relief. 

It  dawned  upon  him  all  at  once  that  he  was 
nervous,  watchful,  sleepless.  The  fact  caused  him 
surprise,  and  he  began  to  think  back,  to  take  note 
of  his  late  actions  and  their  motives.  The  change 
one  day  had  wrought  amazed  him.  He  who  had 

17 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


always  been  free,  easy,  happy,  especially  when  out 
alone  in  the  open,  had  become  in  a few  short  hours 
bound,  serious,  preoccupied.  The  silence  that  had 
once  been  sweet  now  meant  nothing  to  him  except 
a medium  whereby  he  might  the  better  hear  the 
sounds  of  pursuit.  The  loneliness,  the  night,  the 
wild,  that  had  always  been  beautiful  to  him,  now 
only  conveyed  a sense  of  safety  for  the  present.  He 
watched,  he  listened,  he  thought.  He  felt  tired, 
yet  had  no  inclination  to  rest.  He  intended  to  be 
off  by  dawn,  heading  toward  the  southwest.  Had 
he  a destination?  It  was  vague  as  his  knowledge  of 
that  great  waste  of  mesauite  and  rock  bordering 
the  Rio  Grande.  Somewhere  out  there  was  a refuge. 
For  he  was  a fugitive  from  justice,  an  outlaw. 

This  being  an  outlaw  then  meant  eternal  vigilance. 
No  home,  no  rest,  no  sleep,  no  content,  no  life  worth 
the  living!  He  must  be  a lone  wolf  or  he  must 
herd  among  men  obnoxious  to  him.  If  he  worked 
for  an  honest  living  he  still  must  hide  his  identity 
and  take  risks  of  detection.  If  he  did  not  work  on 
some  distant  outlying  ranch,  how  was  he  to  live? 
The  idea  of  stealing  was  repugnant  to  him.  The 
future  seemed  gray  and  somber  enough.  And  he 
was  twenty-three  years  old. 

Why  had  this  hard  life  been  imposed  upon  him? 

The  bitter  question  seemed  to  start  a strange  ici- 
ness that  stole  along  his  veins.  What  was  wrong 
with  him?  He  stirred  the  few  sticks  of  mesquite 
into  a last  flickering  blaze.  He  was  cold,  and  for 
some  reason  he  wanted  some  light.  The  black  circle 
of  darkness  weighed  down  upon  him,  closed  in  around 
him.  Suddenly  he  sat  bolt  upright  and  then  froze 

18 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


in  that  position.  He  had  heard  a step.  It  was  be- 
hind him — no — on  the  side.  Some  one  was  there. 
He  forced  his  hand  down  to  his  gun,  and  the  touch 
of  cold  steel  was  another  icy  shock.  Then  he  waited. 
But  all  was  silent — silent  as  only  a wilderness  arroyo 
can  be,  with  its  low  murmuring  of  wind  in  the  mes- 
quite.  Had  he  heard  a step  ? He  began  to  breathe 
again. 

But  what  was  the  matter  with  the  light  of  his 
camp-fire?  It  had  taken  on  a strange  green  luster 
and  seemed  to  be  waving  off  into  the  outer  shadows. 
Duane  heard  no  step,  saw  no  movement;  neverthe- 
less, there  was  another  present  at  that  camp-fire 
vigil.  Duane  saw  him.  He  lay  there  in  the  middle 
of  the  green  brightness,  prostrate,  motionless,  dy- 
ing. Cal  Bain!  His  features  were  wonderfully  dis- 
tinct, clearer  than  any  cameo,  more  sharply  outlined 
than  those  of  any  picture.  It  was  a hard  face  soft- 
ening at  the  threshold  of  eternity.  The  red  tan  of 
sun,  the  coarse  signs  of  drunkenness,  the  ferocity  and 
hate  so  characteristic  of  Bain  were  no  longer  there. 
This  face  represented  a different  Bain,  showed  all 
that  was  human  in  him  fading,  fading  as  swiftly  as 
it  blanched  white.  The  lips  wanted  to  speak,  but 
had  not  the  power.  The  eyes  held  an  agony  of 
thought.  They  revealed  what  might  have  been 
possible  for  this  man  if  he  lived — that  he  saw  his 
mistake  too  late.  Then  they  rolled,  set  blankly, 
and  closed  in  death. 

That  haunting  visitation  left  Duane  sitting  there 
in  a cold  sweat,  a remorse  gnawing  at  his  vitals, 
realizing  the  curse  that  was  on  him.  He  divined 
that  never  would  he  be  able  to  keep  off  that  phantom. 

19 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


He  remembered  how  his  father  had  been  eternally 
pursued  by  the  furies  of  accusing  guilt,  how  he  had 
never  been  able  to  forget  in  work  or  in  sleep  those 
men  he  had  killed. 

The  hour  was  late  when  Duane’s  mind  let  him 
sleep,  and  then  dreams  troubled  him.  In  the 
morning  he  bestirred  himself  so  early  that  in  the 
gray  gloom  he  had  difficulty  in  finding  Ills  horse. 
Day  had  just  broken  when  he  struck  the  old  trail 
again. 

He  rode  hard  all  morning  and  halted  in  a shady 
spot  to  rest  and  graze  his  horse.  In  the  afternoon 
he  took  to  the  trail  at  an  easy  trot.  The  country 
grew  wilder.  Bald,  rugged  mountains  broke  the 
level  of  the  monotonous  horizon.  About  three  in 
the  afternoon  he  came  to  a little  river  which  marked 
the  boundary  line  of  his  hunting  territory. 

The  decision  he  made  to  travel  up-stream  for  a 
while  was  owing  to  two  facts:  the  river  was  high 
with  quicksand  bars  on  each  side,  and  he  felt  re- 
luctant to  cross  into  that  region  where  his  presence 
alone  meant  that  he  was  a marked  man.  The  bot- 
tom-lands through  wffiich  the  river  wound  to  the 
southwest  were  more  inviting  than  the  barrens  he 
had  traversed.  The  rest  of  that  day  he  rode  leis- 
urely up-stream.  At  sunset  he  penetrated  the 
brakes  of  willow  and  cottonwood  to  spend  the  night. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  in  this  lonely  cover  he  would 
feel  easy  and  content.  But  he  did  not.  Every  feel- 
ing, every  imagining  he  had  experienced  the  previ- 
ous night  returned  somewhat  more  vividly  and  ac- 
centuated by  newer  ones  of  the  same  intensity  and 
color. 


20 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


In  this  kind  of  travel  and  camping  he  spent  three 
more  days,  during  which  he  crossed  a number  of 
trails,  and  one  road  where  cattle — stolen  cattle,  prob- 
ably— had  recently  passed.  This  time  exhausted  his 
supply  of  food,  except  salt,  pepper,  coffee,  and  sugar, 
of  which  he  had  a quantity.  There  were  deer  in  the 
brakes;  but,  as  he  could  not  get  close  enough  to  kill 
them  with  a revolver,  he  had  to  satisfy  himself  with 
a rabbit.  He  knew  he  might  as  well  content  him- 
self with  the  hard  fare  that  assuredly  would  be  his 
lot. 

Somewhere  up  this  river  there  was  a village  called 
Huntsville.  It  was  distant  about  a hundred  miles 
from  Wellston,  and  had  a reputation  throughout 
southwestern  Texas.  He  had  never  been  there. 
The  fact  was  this  reputation  was  such  that  honest 
travelers  gave  the  town  a wide  berth.  Duane  had 
considerable  money  for  him  in  his  possession,  and 
he  concluded  to  visit  Huntsville,  if  he  could  find  it, 
and  buy  a stock  of  provisions. 

The  following  day,  toward  evening,  he  happened 
upon  a road  which  he  believed  might  lead  to  the 
village.  There  were  a good  many  fresh  horse-tracks 
in  the  sand,  and  these  made  him  thoughtful.  Never- 
theless, he  followed  the  road,  proceeding  cautiously. 
He  had  not  gone  very  far  when  the  sound  of  rapid 
hoof-beats  caught  his  ears.  They  came  from  his 
rear.  In  the  darkening  twilight  he  could  not  see 
any  great  distance  back  along  the  road.  Voices, 
however,  warned  him  that  these  riders,  whoever 
they  weie,  had  approached  closer  than  he  liked. 
To  go  farther  down  the  road  was  not  to  be  thought 
of,  so  he  turned  a little  way  in  among  the  mesqtrites 

21 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


and  halted,  hoping  to  escape  being  seen  or  heard. 
As  he  was  now  a fugitive,  it  seemed  every  man  was 
his  enemy  and  pursuer. 

The  horsemen  were  fast  approaching.  Presently 
they  were  abreast  of  Duane’s  position,  so  near  that 
he  could  hear  the  creak  of  saddles,  the  clink  of  spurs. 

“Shore  he  crossed  the  river  below,”  said  one  man. 

“I  reckon  you’re  right,  Bill.  He’s  slipped  us,” 
replied  another. 

Rangers  or  a posse  of  ranchers  in  pursuit  of  a 
fugitive!  The  knowledge  gave  Duane  a strange 
thrill.  Certainly  they  could  not  have  been  hunting 
him.  But  the  feeling  their  proximity  gave  him  was 
identical  to  what  it  would  have  been  had  he  been 
this  particular  hunted  man.  He  held  his  breath; 
he  clenched  his  teeth;  he  pressed  a quieting  hand 
upon  his  horse.  Suddenly  he  became  aware  that 
these  horsemen  had  halted.  They  were  whispering. 
He  could  just  make  oift  a dark  group  closely  massed. 
What  had  made  them  halt  so  suspiciously? 

“You’re  wrong,  Bill,”  said  a man,  in  a low  but 
distinct  voice.  “The  idee  of  hearin’  a hoss  heave! 
You’re  wuss’n  a ranger.  An’  you’re  hell-bent  on 
killin’  that  rustler.  Now  I say  let’s  go  home  an’ 
eat.” 

“Wal,  I’ll  just  take  a look  at  the  sand,”  replied 
the  man  called  Bill. 

Duane  heard  the  clink  of  spurs  on  steel  stirrup 
and  the  thud  of  boots  on  the  ground.  There  fol- 
lowed a short  silence  which  was  broken  by  a sharply 
breathed  exclamation. 

Duane  waited  for  no  more.  They  had  found  his 
trail.  He  spurred  his  horse  straight  into  the  brush. 

22 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


At  the  second  crashing  bound  there  came  yells  from 
the  road,  and  then  shots.  Duane  heard  the  hiss  of  a 
bullet  close  by  his  ear,  and  as  it  struck  a branch  it 
made  a peculiar  singing  sound.  These  shots  and 
the  proximity  of  that  lead  missile  roused  in  Duane 
a quick,  hot  resentment  which  mounted  into  a 
passion  almost  ungovernable.  He  must  escape,  yet 
it  seemed  that  he  did  not  care  whether  he  did  or 
not.  Something  grim  kept  urging  him  to  halt  and 
return  the  fire  of  these  men.  After  running  a couple 
of  hundred  yards  he  raised  himself  from  over  the 
pommel,  where  he  had  bent  to  avoid  the  stinging 
branches,  and  tried  to  guide  his  horse.  In  the  dark 
shadows  under  mesquites  and  cottonwoods  he  was 
hard  put  to  it  to  find  open  passage;  however,  he 
succeeded  so  well  and  made  such  little  noise  that 
gradually  he  drew  away  from  his  pursuers.  The 
sound  of  their  horses  crashing  through  the  thickets 
died  away.  Duane  reined  in  and  listened.  He  had 
distanced  them.  Probably  they  would  go  into  camp 
till  daylight,  then  follow  his  tracks.  He  started  on 
again,  walking  his  horse,  and  peered  sharply  at  the 
ground,  so  that  he  might  take  advantage  of  the  first 
trail  he  crossed.  It  seemed  a long  while  until  he 
came  upon  one.  He  followed  it  until  a late  hour, 
when,  striking  the  willow  brakes  again  and  hence 
the  neighborhood  of  the  river,  he  picketed  his  horse 
and  lay  down  to  rest.  But  he  did  not  sleep.  His 
mind  bitterly  revolved  the  fate  that  had  come  upon 
him.  He  made  efforts  to  think  of  other  things,  but 
in  vain.  Every  moment  he  expected  the  chill,  the 
sense  of  loneliness  that  yet  was  ominous  of  a strange 
visitation,  the  peculiarly  imagined  lights  and  shader 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


of  the  night — these  things  that  presaged  the  coming 
of  Cal  Bain  Doggedly  Duane  fought  against  the 
insidious  phantom.  He  kept  telling  himself  that  it 
was  just  imagination,  that  it  would  wear  off  in 
time.  Still  in  his  heart  he  did  not  believe  what  he 
hoped.  But  he  would  not  give  up;  he  would  not 
accept  the  ghost  of  his  victim  as  a reality. 

Gray  dawn  found  him  in  the  saddle  again  headed 
for  the  river.  Half  an  hour  of  riding  brought  him 
to  the  dense  chaparral  and  willow  thickets.  These 
he  threaded  to  come  at  length  to  the  ford.  It  was 
a gravel  bottom,  and  therefore  an  easy  crossing. 
Once  upon  the  opposite  shore  he  reined  in  his  horse 
and  looked  darkly  back.  This  action  marked  his 
acknowledgment  of  his  situation:  he  had  volun- 
tarily sought  the  refuge  of  the  outlaws;  he  was  be- 
yond the  pale.  A bitter  and  passionate  curse  passed 
his  lips  as  he  spurred  his  horse  into  the  brakes  on 
that  alien  shore. 

He  rode  perhaps  twenty  miles,  not  sparing  his 
horse  nor  caring  whether  or  not  he  left  a plain 
trail. 

“Let  them  hunt  me!”  he  muttered. 

When  the  heat  of  the  day  began  to  be  oppressive, 
and  hunger  and  thirst  made  themselves  manifest, 
Duane  began  to  look  about  him  for  a place  to  halt 
for  the  noon-hours.  The  trail  led  into  a road  which 
was  hard  packed  and  smooth  from  the  tracks  of 
cattle.  He  doubted  not  that  he  had  come  across 
one  of  the  roads  used  by  border  raiders.  He  headed 
into  it,  and  had  scarcely  traveled  a mile  when,  turn- 
ing a curve,  he  came  point-blank  upon  a single  horse- 
man riding  toward  him.  Both  riders  wheeled  their 

24 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


mounts  sharply  and  were  ready  to  run  and  shoot 
back.  Not  more  than  a hundred  paces  separated 
them.  They  stood  then  for  a moment  watching 
each  other. 

“Mawnin’,  stranger,”  called  the  man,  dropping 
his  hand  from  his  hip. 

“Howdy,”  replied  Duane,  shortly. 

They  rode  toward  each  other,  closing  half  the  gap, 
then  they  halted  again. 

“I  seen  you  ain’t  no  ranger,”  called  the  rider, 
“an’  shore  I ain’t  none.” 

He  laughed  loudly,  as  if  he  had  made  a joke. 

“How’d  you  know  I wasn’t  a ranger?”  asked 
Duane,  curiously.  Somehow  he  had  instantly  di- 
vined that  this  horseman  was  no  officer,  or  even  a 
rancher  trailing  stolen  stock. 

“Wal,”  said  the  fellow,  starting  his  horse  forward 
at  a walk,  “a  ranger’d  never  git  ready  to  run  the 
other  way  from  one  man.” 

He  laughed  again.  He  was  small  and  wiry, 
slouchy  of  attire,  and  armed  to  the  teeth,  and  he 
bestrode  a fine  bay  horse.  He  had  quick,  dancing 
brown  eyes,  at  once  frank  and  bold,  and  a coarse, 
bronzed  face.  Evidently  he  was  a good-natured 
ruffian. 

Duane  acknowledged  the  truth  of  the  assertion, 
and  turned  over  in  his  mind  how  shrewdly  the  fellow 
had  guessed  him  to  be  a hunted  man. 

“My  name’s  Luke  Stevens,  an’  I hail  from  the 
river.  Who  ’re  you?”  said  this  stranger. 

Duane  was  silent. 

“I  reckon  you’re  Buck  Duane,”  went  on  Stevens. 
“I  heerd  you  was  a damn  bad  man  with  a gun.” 

25 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


This  time  Duane  laughed,  not  at  the  doubtful 
compliment,  but  at  the  idea  that  the  first  outlaw  he 
met  should  know  him.  Here  was  proof  of  how  swift- 
ly facts  about  gun-play  traveled  on  the  Texas  border. 

“Wal,  Buck,”  said  Stevens,  in  a friendly  manner, 
“I  ain’t  presumin’  on  your  time  or  company.  I 
see  you’re  headin’  fer  the  river.  But  will  you  stop 
long  enough  to  stake  a feller  to  a bite  of  grub?” 

“I’m  out  of  grub,  and  pretty  hungry  myself,” 
admitted  Duane. 

“Been  pushin’  your  hoss,  I see.  Wal,  I reckon 
you’d  better  stock  up  before  you  hit  thet  stretch  of 
country.” 

He  made  a wide  sweep  of  his  right  arm,  indicating 
the  southwest,  and  there  was  that  in  his  action  which 
seemed  significant  of  a vast  and  barren  region. 

“Stock  up?”  queried  Duane,  thoughtfully. 

“Shore.  A feller  has  jest  got  to  eat.  I can 
rustle  along  without  whisky,  but  not  without  grub. 
Thet’s  what  makes  it  so  embarrassin’  travelin’  these 
parts  dodgin’  your  shadow.  Now,  I’m  on  my  way 
to  Mercer.  It’s  a little  two-bit  town  up  the  river 
a ways.  I’m  goin’  to  pack  out  some  grub.” 

Stevens’s  tone  was  inviting.  Evidently  he  would 
welcome  Duane’s  companionship,  but  he  did  not 
openly  say  so.  Duane  kept  silence,  however,  and 
then  Stevens  went  on. 

“Stranger,  in  this  here  country  two’s  a crowd. 
It’s  safer.  I never  was  much  on  this  lone  - wolf 
dodgin’,  though  I’ve  done  it  of  necessity.  It  takes 
a damn  good  man  to  travel  alone  any  length  of  time. 
Why,  I’ve  been  thet  sick  I was  jest  achin’  fer  some 
ranger  to  come  along  an’  plug  me.  Give  me  a 

26 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


pardner  any  day.  Now,  mebbe  you’re  not  thet  kind 
of  a feller,  an’  I’m  shore  not  presumin’  to  ask.  But 
I jest  declares  myself  sufficient.” 

‘‘You  mean  you’d  like  me  to  go  with  you?”  asked 
Duane. 

Stevens  grinned.  ‘‘Wal,  I should  smile.  I'd  be 
particular  proud  to  be  braced  with  a man  of  your 
reputation.” 

“See  here,  my  good  fellow,  that’s  all  nonsense,” 
declared  Duane,  in  some  haste. 

“Shore  I think  modesty  becomin’  to  a youngster,” 
replied  Stevens.  “I  hate  a brag.  An’  I’ve  no  use 
fer  these  four-flush  cowboys  thet  ’re  always  lookin’ 
fer  trouble  an’  talkin’  gun-play.  Buck,  I don’t 
know  much  about  you.  But  every  man  who’s 
lived  along  the  Texas  border  remembers  a lot  about 
your  Dad.  It  was  expected  of  you,  I reckon,  an’ 
much  of  your  rep  was  established  before  you 
throwed  your  gun.  I jest  heerd  thet  you  was  light- 
nin’  on  the  draw,  an’  when  you  cut  loose  with  a gun, 
why  the  figger  on  the  ace  of  spades  would  cover 
your  cluster  of  bullet-holes.  Thet’s  the  word  thet’s 
gone  down  the  border.  It’s  the  kind  of  reputation 
most  sure  to  fly  far  an’  swift  ahead  of  a man  in  this 
country.  An’  the  safest,  too;  I’ll  gamble  on  thet. 
It’s  the  land  of  the  draw.  I see  now  you’re  only  a 
boy,  though  you’re  shore  a strappin’  husky  one. 
Now,  Buck,  I’m  not  a spring  chicken,  an’  I’ve  been 
long  on  the  dodge.  Mebbe  a little  of  my  society 
won’t  hurt  you  none.  You’ll  need  to  learn  the 
country.” 

There  was  something  sincere  and  likable  about 
this  outlaw. 

3 


27 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


‘T  dare  say  you’re  right,”  replied  Duane,  quietly. 
“And  I’ll  go  to  Mercer  with  you.” 

Next  moment  he  was  riding  down  the  road  with 
Stevens.  Duane  had  never  been  much  of  a talker, 
and  now  he  found  speech  difficult.  But  his  com- 
panion did  not  seem  to  mind  that.  He  was  a jocose, 
voluble  fellow,  probably  glad  now  to  hear  the  sound 
of  his  own  voice.  Duane  listened,  and  sometimes 
he  thought  with  a pang  of  the  distinction  of  name 
and  heritage  of  blood  his  father  had  left  to  him. 


CHAPTER  III 


LATE  that  day,  a couple  of  hours  before  sunset, 
Duane  and  Stevens,  having  rested  their  horses 
in  the  shade  of  some  mesquites  near  the  town  of 
Mercer,  saddled  up  and  prepared  to  move. 

“Buck,  as  we’re  lookin’  fer  grub,  an’  not  trouble, 
I reckon  you’d  better  hang  up  out  here,”  Stevens 
was  saying,  as  he  mounted.  “You  see,  towns  an’ 
sheriffs  an’  rangers  are  always  lookin’  fer  new  fellers 
gone  bad.  They  sort  of  forget  most  of  the  old  boys, 
except  those  as  are  plumb  bad.  Now,  nobody  in 
Mercer  will  take  notice  of  me.  Reckon  there’s  been 
a thousand  men  run  into  the  river  country  to  be- 
come outlaws  since  yours  truly.  You  jest  wait 
here  an’  be  ready  to  ride  hard.  Mebbe  my  besettin’ 
sin  will  go  operatin’  in  spite  of  my  good  intentions. 
In  which  case  there’ll  be — ” 

His  pause  was  significant.  He  grinned,  and  his 
brown  eyes  danced  with  a kind  of  wild  humor. 

“Stevens,  have  you  got  any  money?”  asked 
Duane. 

“Money!”  exclaimed  Luke,  blankly.  “Say,  I 
haven’t  owned  a two-bit  piece  since — wal,  fer  some 
time.” 

“I’ll  furnish  money  for  grub,”  returned  Duane. 
“And  for  whisky,  too,  providing  you  hurry  back 
here — without  making  trouble.” 

29 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“Shore  you’re  a downright  good  pard,”  declared 
Stevens,  in  admiration,  as  he  took  the  money.  “I 
give  my  word,  Buck,  an’  I’m  here  to  say  I never 
broke  it  yet.  Lay  low,  an’  look  fer  me  back  quick.” 

With  that  he  spurred  his  horse  and  rode  out  of 
the  mesquites  toward  the  town.  At  that  distance, 
about  a quarter  of  a mile,  Mercer  appeared  to  be  a 
cluster  of  low  adobe  houses  set  in  a grove  of  cotton- 
woods. Pastures  of  alfalfa  were  dotted  by  horses 
and  cattle.  Duane  saw  a sheep-herder  driving  in  a 
meager  flock. 

Presently  Stevens  rode  out  of  sight  into  the  town. 
Duane  waited,  hoping  the  outlaw  would  make  good 
his  word.  Probably  not  a quarter  of  an  hour  had 
elapsed  when  Duane  heard  the  clear  reports  of  a 
Winchester  rifle,  the  clatter  of  rapid  hoof -beats,  and 
yells  unmistakably  the  kind  to  mean  danger  for  a 
man  like  Stevens.  Duane  mounted  and  rode  to  the 
edge  of  the  mesquites. 

He  saw  a cloud  of  dust  down  the  road  and  a bay 
horse  running  fast.  Stevens  apparently  had  not 
been  wounded  by  any  of  the  shots,  for  he  had  a 
steady  seat  in  his  saddle  and  his  riding,  even  at  that 
moment,  struck  Duane  as  admirable.  He  carried  a 
large  pack  over  the  pommel,  and  he  kept  looking 
back.  The  shots  had  ceased,  but  the  yells  increased. 
Duane  saw  several  men  running  and  waving  their 
arms.  Then  he  spurred  his  horse  and  got  into  a 
swift  stride,  so  Stevens  would  not  pass  him.  Pres- 
ently the  outlaw  caught  up  with  him.  Stevens  was 
grinning,  but  there  was  now  no  fun  in  the  dancing 
eyes.  It  was  a devil  that  danced  in  them.  His 
face  seemed  a shade  paler. 

3° 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“Was  jest  cornin’  out  of  the  store,”  yelled  Stevens. 
“Run  plumb  into  a rancher — who  knowed  me.  He 
opened  up  with  a rifle.  Think  they’ll  chase  us.” 
They  covered  several  miles  before  there  were  any 
signs  of  pursuit,  and  when  horsemen  did  move  into 
sight  out  of  the  cottonwoods  Duane  and  his  com- 
panion steadily  drew  farther  away. 

“No  hosses  in  thet  bunch  to  worry  us,”  called  out 
Stevens. 

Duane  had  the  same  conviction,  and  he  did  not 
look  back  again.  He  rode  somewhat  to  the  fore,  and 
was  constantly  aware  of  the  rapid  thudding  of  hoofs 
behind,  as  Stevens  kept  close  to  him.  At  sunset 
they  reached  the  willow  brakes  and  the  river. 
Duane’s  horse  was  winded  and  lashed  with  sweat 
and  lather.  It  was  not  until  the  crossing  had  been 
accomplished  that  Duane  halted  to  rest  his  animal. 
Stevens  was  riding  up  the  low,  sandy  bank.  He 
reeled  in  the  saddle.  With  an  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise Duane  leaped  off  and  ran  to  the  outlaw’s  side. 

Stevens  was  pale,  and  his  face  bore  beads  of  sweat - 
The  whole  front  of  his  shirt  was  soaked  with  blood. 
“You’re  shot!”  cried  Duane. 

“ Wal,  who  ’n  hell  said  I wasn’t  ? Would  you  mind 
givin’  me  a lift — on  this  here  pack?” 

Duane  lifted  the  heavy  pack  down  and  then  helped 
Stevens  to  dismount.  The  outlaw  had  a bloody 
foam  on  his  lips,  and  he  was  spitting  blood. 

“Oh,  why  didn’t  you  say  so!”  cried  Duane.  “I 
never  thought.  You  seemed  all  right.” 

“Wal,  Luke  Stevens  may  be  as  gabby  as  an  old 
woman,  but  sometimes  he  doesn’t  say  anythin’. ' It 
wouldn’t  have  done  no  good.” 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Duane  bade  him  sit  down,  removed  his  shirt,  and 
washed  the  blood  from  his  breast  and  back.  Stevens 
had  been  shot  in  the  breast,  fairly  low  down,  and  the 
bullet  had  gone  clear  through  him.  His  ride,  hold- 
ing himself  and  that  heavy  pack  in  the  saddle,  had 
been  a feat  little  short  of  marvelous.  Duane  did 
not  see  how  it  had  been  possible,  and  he  felt  no  hope 
for  the  outlaw.  But  he  plugged  the  wounds  and 
bound  them  tightly. 

'‘Feller’s  name  was  Brown,”  Stevens  said.  "Me 
an’  him  fell  out  over  a hoss  I stole  from  him  over  in 
Huntsville.  We  had  a shootin’-scrape  then.  Wal, 
as  I was  straddlin’  my  hoss  back  there  in  Mercer 
I seen  this  Brown,  an’  seen  him  before  he  seen  me. 
Could  have  killed  him,  too.  But  I wasn’t  breakin’ 
my  word  to  you.  I kind  of  hoped  he  wouldn’t  spot 
me.  But  he  did — an’  fust  shot  he  got  me  here. 
What  do  you  think  of  this  hole?” 

"It’s  pretty  bad,”  replied  Duane;  and  he  could 
not  look  the  cheerful  outlaw  in  the  eyes. 

"I  reckon  it  is.  Wal,  I’ve  had  some  bad  wounds 
I lived  over.  Guess  mebbe  I can  stand  this  one. 
Now,  Buck,  get  me  some  place  in  the  brakes,  leave 
me  some  grub  an’  water  at  my  hand,  an’  then  you 
clear  out.” 

"Leave  you  here  alone?”  asked  Duane,  sharply. 

* ‘ Shore.  Y ou  see,  I can’t  keep  up  with  you.  Brown 
an’  his  friends  will  foller  us  acrost  the  river  a ways. 
You’ve  got  to  think  of  number  one  in  this  game.” 

“What  would  you  do  in  my  case?”  asked  Duane, 
curiously. 

"Wal,  I reckon  I’d  clear  out  an’  save  my  hide,” 
replied  Stevens. 


32 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

Duane  felt  inclined  to  doubt  the  outlaw’s  asser- 
tion. For  his  own  part  he  decided  his  conduct  with- 
out further  speech.  First  he  watered  the  horses, 
filled  canteens  and  water-bag,  and  then  tied  the 
pack  upon  his  own  horse.  That  done,  he  lifted 
Stevens  upon  his  horse,  and,  holding  him  in  the  sad- 
dle, turned  into  the  brakes,  being  careful  to  pick 
out  hard  or  grassy  ground  that  left  little  signs  of 
tracks.  Just  about  dark  he  ran  across  a trail  that 
Stevens  said  was  a good  one  to  take  into  the  wild 
country. 

“Reckon  we’d  better  keep  right  on  in  the  dark — 
till  I drop,”  concluded  Stevens,  with  a laugh. 

All  that  night  Duane,  gloomy  and  thoughtful, 
attentive  to  the  wounded  outlaw,  walked  the  trail 
and  never  halted  till  daybreak.  He  was  tired  then 
and  very  hungry.  Stevens  seemed  in  bad  shape, 
although  he  was  still  spirited  and  cheerful.  Duane 
made  camp.  The  outlaw  refused  food,  but  asked 
for  both  whisky  and  water.  Then  he  stretched  out. 

“Buck,  will  you  take  off  my  boots?”  he  asked, 
with  a faint  smile  on  his  pallid  face. 

Duane  removed  them,  wondering  if  the  outlaw 
had  the  thought  that  he  did  not  want  to  die  with 
his  boots  on.  Stevens  seemed  to  read  his  mind. 

“Buck,  my  old  daddy  used  to  say  thet  I was 
bom  to  be  hanged.  But  I wasn’t — an’  dyin’  with 
your  boots  on  is  the  next  wust  way  to  croak.” 

“You’ve  a chance  to — to  get  over  this,”  said 
Duane. 

“Shore.  But  I want  to  be  correct  about  the 
boots — an’  say,  pard,  if  I do  go  over,  jest  you  remem- 
ber thet  I was  appreciatin’  of  your  kindness.” 

33 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Then  he  closed  his  eyes  and  seemed  to  deep. 

Duane  could  not  find  water  for  the  horses,  but 
there  was  an  abundance  of  dew  - wet  grass  upon 
which  he  hobbled  them.  After  that  was  done  he 
prepared  himself  a much -needed  meal.  The  sun 
was  getting  warm  when  he  lay  down  to  sleep,  and 
when  he  awoke  it  was  sinking  in  the  west.  Stevens 
was  still  alive,  for  he  breathed  heavily.  The  horses 
were  in  sight.  All  was  quiet  except  the  hum  of  in- 
sects in  the  brush.  Duane  listened  awhile,  then  rose 
and  went  for  the  horses. 

When  he  returned  with  them  he  found  Stevens 
awake,  bright-eyed,  cheerful  as  usual,  and  appar- 
ently stronger. 

“Wal,  Buck,  I’m  still  with  you  an’  good  fer  an- 
other night’s  ride,”  he  said.  “Guess  about  all  I 
need  now  is  a big  pull  on  thet  bottle.  Help  me,  will 
you?  There!  thet  was  bully.  I ain’t  swallowin’ 
my  blood  this  evenin’.  Mebbe  I’ve  bled  all  there 
was  in  me.” 

While  Duane  got  a hurried  meal  for  himself, 
packed  up  the  little  outfit,  and  saddled  the  horses 
Stevens  kept  on  talking.  He  seemed  to  be  in  a 
hurry  to  tell  Duane  all  about  the  country.  Another 
night  ride  would  put  them  beyond  fear  of  pursuit, 
within  striking  distance  of  the  Rio  Grande  and  the 
•hiding-places  of  the  outlaws. 

When  it  came  time  for  mounting  the  horses 
Stevens  said,  “Reckon  you  can  pull  on  my  boots 
once  more.”  In  spite  of  the  laugh  accompanying 
the  words  Duane  detected  a subtle  change  in  the 
outlaw’s  spirit. 

On  this  night  travel  was  facilitated  by  the  fact 

34 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


that  the  trail  was  broad  enough  for  two  horses 
abreast,  enabling  Duane  to  ride  while  upholding 
Stevens  in  the  saddle. 

The  difficulty  most  persistent  was  in  keeping  the 
horses  in  a walk.  They  were  used  to  a trot,  and 
that  kind  of  gait  would  not  do  for  Stevens.  The 
red  died  out  of  the  west ; a pale  afterglow  prevailed 
for  a while;  darkness  set  in;  then  the  broad  expanse 
of  blue  darkened  and  the  stars  brightened.  After 
a while  Stevens  ceased  talking  and  drooped  in  his 
saddle.  Duane  kept  the  horses  going,  however,  and 
the  slow  hours  wore  away.  Duane  thought  the 
quiet  night  would  never  break  to  dawn,  that  there 
was  no  end  to  the  melancholy,  brooding  plain.  But 
at  length  a grayness  blotted  out  the  stars  and  mantled 
the  level  of  mesquite  and  cactus. 

Dawn  caught  the  fugitives  at  a green  camping- 
site  on  the  bank  of  a rocky  little  stream.  Stevens 
fell  a dead  weight  into  Duane’s  arms,  and  one  look 
at  the  haggard  face  showed  Duane  that  the  outlaw 
had  taken  his  last  ride.  He  knew  it,  too.  Yet 
that  cheerfulness  prevailed. 

“Buck,  my  feet  are  orful  tired  packin’  them  heavy 
boots,”  he  said,  and  seemed  immensely  relieved 
when  Duane  had  removed  them. 

This  matter  of  the  outlaw's  boots  was  strange, 
Duane  thought.  He  made  Stevens  as  comfortable 
as  possible,  then  attended  to  his  own  needs.  And 
the  outlaw  took  up  the  thread  of  his  conversation 
where  he  had  left  off  the  night  before. 

“This  trail  splits  up  a ways  from  here,  an’  every 
branch  of  it  leads  to  a hole  where  you’ll  find  men — 
a few,  mebbe,  like  yourself — some  like  me — an* 

35 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


gangs  of  no-good  hoss-thieves,  rustlers,  an’  such. 
It’s  easy  livin’,  Buck.  I reckon,  though,  that  you’ll 
not  find  it  easy.  You’ll  never  mix  in.  You’ll  be  a 
lone  wolf.  I seen  that  right  off.  Wal,  if  a man  can 
stand  the  loneliness,  an’  if  he’s  quick  on  the  draw, 
mebbe  lone-wolfin’  it  is  the  best.  Shore  I don’t 
know.  But  these  fellers  in  here  will  be  suspicious 
of  a man  who  goes  it  alone.  If  they  get  a chance 
they’ll  kill  you.” 

Stevens  asked  for  water  several  times.  He  had 
forgotten  or  he  did  not  want  the  whisky.  His  voice 
grew  perceptibly  weaker. 

“Be  quiet,”  said  Duane.  “Talking  uses  up  your 
strength.” 

“Aw,  I’ll  talk  till — I’m  done,”  he  replied,  dogged- 
ly. “See  here,  pard,  you  can  gamble  on  what  I’m 
tellin’  you.  An’  it  ’ll  be  useful.  From  this  camp 
we’ll — you’ll  meet  men  right  along.  An’  none  of 
them  will  be  honest  men.  All  the  same,  some  are 
better  ’n  others.  I’ve  lived  along  the  river  fer  twelve 
years.  There’s  three  big  gangs  of  outlaws.  King 
Fisher — you  know  him,  I reckon,  fer  he’s  half  the 
time  livin’  among  respectable  folks.  King  is  a 
pretty  good  feller.  It  ’ll  do  to  tie  up  with  him  an’ 
his  gang.  Now,  there’s  Cheseldine,  who  hangs  out 
in  the  Rim  Rock  way  up  the  river.  He’s  an  outlaw 
chief.  I never  seen  him,  though  I stayed  once  right 
in  his  camp.  Late  years  he’s  got  rich  an’  keeps  back 
pretty  well  hid.  But  Bland — I knowed  Bland  fer 
years.  An’  I haven’t  any  use  fer  him.  Bland  has 
the  biggest  gang.  You  ain’t  likely  to  miss  strikin’ 
his  place  sometime  or  other.  He’s  got  a regular 
town,  I might  say.  Shore  there’s  some  gamblin’  an’ 

36 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


gun-fightin’  goin’  on  at  Bland’s  camp  all  the  time. 
Bland  has  killed  some  twenty  men,  an’  thet’s  not 
countin’  greasers.” 

Here  Stevens  took  another  drink  and  then  rested 
for  a while. 

‘‘You  ain’t  likely  to  get  on  with  Bland,”  he  re- 
sumed, presently.  “You’re  too  strappin’  big  an’ 
good-lookin’  to  please  the  chief.  Fer  he’s  got  women 
in  his  camp.  Then  he’d  be  jealous  of  your  possi- 
bilities with  a gun.  Shore  I reckon  he’d  be  careful, 
though.  Bland’s  no  fool,  an’  he  loves  his  hide.  I 
reckon  any  of  the  other  gangs  would  be  better  fer 
you  when  you  ain’t  goin’  it  alone.” 

Apparently  that  exhausted  the  fund  of  informa 
tion  and  advice  Stevens  had  been  eager  to  impart. 
He  lapsed  into  silence  and  lay  with  closed  eyes. 
Meanwhile  the  sun  rose  warm;  the  breeze  waved  the 
mesquites;  the  birds  came  down  to  splash  in  the 
shallow  stream ; Duane  dozed  in  a comfortable 
seat.  By  and  by  something  roused  him.  Ste- 
vens was  once  more  talking,  but  with  a changed 
tone. 

“Feller’s  name — was  Brown,”  he  rambled.  “We 
fell  out — over  a hoss  I stole  from  him — in  Hunts- 
ville. He  stole  it  fust.  Brown’s  one  of  them  sneaks 
— afraid  of  the  open — he  steals  an’  pretends  to  be 
honest.  Say,  Buck,  mebbe  you’ll  meet  Brown  some 
day — You  an’  me  are  pards  now.” 

“I’ll  remember,  if  I ever  meet  him,”  said  Duane. 

That  seemed  to  satisfy  the  outlaw.  Presently  he 
tried  to  lift  his  head,  but  had  not  the  strength.  A 
strange  shade  was  creeping  across  the  bronzed  rough 
face. 


37 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“My  feet  are  pretty  heavy.  Shore  you  got  my 
boots  off?” 

Duane  held  them  up,  but  was  not  certain  that 
Stevens  could  see  them.  The  outlaw  closed  his 
eyes  again  and  muttered  incoherently.  Then  he 
fell  asleep.  Duane  believed  that  sleep  was  final. 
The  day  passed,  with  Duane  watching  and  wait- 
ing. Toward  sundown  Stevens  awoke,  and  his  eyes 
seemed  clearer.  Duane  went  to  get  some  fresh 
water,  thinking  his  comrade  would  surely  want  some. 
When  he  returned  Stevens  made  no  sign  that  he 
wanted  anything.  There  was  something  bright 
about  him,  and  suddenly  Duane  realized  what  it 
meant. 

“Pard,  you — stuck — to  me!”  the  outlaw  whis- 
pered. 

Duane  caught  a hint  of  gladness  in  the  voice; 
he  traced  a faint  surprise  in  the  haggard  face. 
Stevens  seemed  like  a little  child. 

To  Duane  the  moment  was  sad,  elemental,  big, 
with  a burden  of  mystery  he  could  not  understand. 

Duane  buried  him  in  a shallow  arroyo  and  heaped 
up  a pile  of  stones  to  mark  the  grave.  That  done, 
he  saddled  his  comrade’s  horse,  hung  the  weapons 
over  the  pommel;  and,  mounting  his  own  steed,  he 
rode  down  the  trail  in  the  gathering  twilight- 


* 


CHAPTER  IV 


TWO  days  later,  about  the  middle  of  the  fore- 
noon, Duane  dragged  the  two  horses  up  the 
last  ascent  of  an  exceedingly  rough  trail  and  found 
himself  on  top  of  the  Rim  Rock,  with  a beautiful 
green  valley  at  his  feet,  the  yellow,  sluggish  Rio 
Grande  shining  in  the  sun,  and  the  great,  wild,  moun- 
tainous barren  of  Mexico  stretching  to  the  south. 

Duane  had  not  fallen  in  with  any  travelers.  He 
had  taken  the  likeliest-looking  trail  he  had  come 
across.  Where  it  had  led  him  he  had  not  the  slight- 
est idea,  except  that  here  was  the  river,  and  prob- 
ably the  inclosed  valley  was  the  retreat  of  some 
famous  outlaw. 

No  wonder  outlaws  were  safe  in  that  wild  refuge  f 
Duane  had  spent  the  last  two  days  climbing  the 
roughest  and  most  difficult  trail  he  had  ever  seen. 

I From  the  looks  of  the  descent  he  imagined  the 
worst  part  of  his  travel  was  yet  to  come.  Not  im- 
probably it  was  two  thousand  feet  down  to  the 
river.  The  wedge-shaped  valley,  green  with  alfalfa 
and  cottonwood,  and  nestling  down  amid  the  bare 
walls  of  yellow  rock,  was  a delight  and  a relief  to 
his  tired  eyes.  Eager  to  get  down  to  a level  and  to 
find  a place  to  rest,  Duane  began  the  descent. 

The  trail  proved  to  be  the  kind  that  could  not  be 
descended  slowly.  He  kept  dodging  rocks  which 

39 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


his  horses  loosed  behind  him.  And  in  a short  time 
he  reached  the  valley,  entering  at  the  apex  of  the 
wedge.  A stream  of  clear  water  tumbled  out  of 
the  rocks  here,  and  most  of  it  ran  into  irrigation- 
ditches.  His  horses  drank  thirstily.  And  he  drank 
with  that  fullness  and  gratefulness  common  to 
the  desert  traveler  finding  sweet  water.  Then  he 
mounted  and  rode  down  the  valley  wondering  what 
would  be  his  reception. 

The  valley  was  much  larger  than  it  had  appeared 
from  the  high  elevation.  Well  watered,  green  with 
grass  and  tree,  and  farmed  evidently  by  good  hands, 
it  gave  Duane  a considerable  surprise.  Horses  and 
cattle  we  re  everywhere.  Every  clump  of  cotton- 
woods surrounded  a small  adobe  house.  Duane  saw 
Mexicans  working  in  the  fields  and  horsemen  going 
to  and  fro.  Presently  he  passed  a house  bigger  than 
the  others  with  a porch  attached.  A woman,  young 
and  pretty  he  thought,  watched  him  from  a door. 
No  one  else  appeared  to  notice  him. 

Presently  the  trail  widened  into  a road,  and  that 
into  a kind  of  square  lined  by  a number  of  adobe 
and  log  buildings  of  rudest  structure.  Within  sight 
were  horses,  dogs,  a couple  of  steers,  Mexican  women 
with  children,  and  white  men,  all  of  whom  appeared 
to  be  doing  nothing.  His  advent  created  no  in- 
terest until  he  rode  up  to  the  white  men,  who  were 
lolling  in  the  shade  of  a house.  This  place  evidently 
was  a store  and  saloon,  and  from  the  inside  came  a 
lazy  hum  of  voices. 

As  Duane  reined  to  a halt  one  of  the  loungers  in 
the  shade  rose  with  a loud  exclamation: 

“Bust  me  if  thet  ain’t  Luke’s  hoss!” 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


The  others  accorded  their  interest,  if  not  assent, 
by  rising  to  advance  toward  Duane. 

“How  about  it,  Euchre?  Ain’t  thet  Luke’s  bay?” 
queried  the  first  man. 

“Plain  as  your  nose,”  replied  the  fellow  called 
Euchre. 

“There  ain’t  no  doubt  about  thet,  then,”  laughed 
another,  “fer  Bosomer’s  nose  is  shore  plain  on  the 
landscape.” 

These  men  lined  up  before  Duane,  and  as  he  coolly 
regarded  them  he  thought  they  could  have  been 
recognized  anywhere  as  desperadoes.  The  man 
called  Bosomer,  who  had  stepped  forward,  had  a 
forbidding  face  which  showed  yellow  eyes,  an  enor- 
mous nose,  and  a skin  the  color  of  dust,  with  a thatch 
of  sandy  hair. 

“Stranger,  who  are  you  an’  where  in  the  hell  did 
you  git  thet  bay  hoss?”  he  demanded.  His  yellow 
eyes  took  in  Stevens’s  horse,  then  the  weapons  hung 
on  the  saddle,  and  finally  turned  their  glinting,  hard 
light  upward  to  Duane. 

Duane  did  not  like  the  tone  in  which  he  had  been 
addressed,  and  he  remained  silent.  At  least  half 
his  mind  seemed  busy  with  curious  interest  in  re- 
gard to  something  that  leaped  inside  him  and  made 
his  breast  feel  tight.  He  recognized  it  as  that 
strange  emotion  which  had  shot  through  him  often 
of  late,  and  which  had  decided  him  to  go  out  to 
the  meeting  with  Bain.  Only  now  it  was  different, 
more  powerful. 

“Stranger,  who  are  you?”  asked  another  man, 
somewhat  more  civilly. 

“My  name’s  Duane,”  replied  Duane,  curtly. 

41 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“An’  how’d  you  come  by  the  hoss?” 

Duane  answered  briefly,  and  his  words  were  fol- 
lowed by  a short  silence,  during  which  the  men 
looked  at  him.  Bosomer  began  to  twist  the  ends  of 

his  beard. 

“Reckon  he’s  dead,  all  right,  or  nobody’d  hev  his 
koss  an’  guns,”  presently  said  Euchre. 

“Mister  Duane,”  began  Bosomer,  in  low,  stinging 
tones,  “I  happen  to  be  Luke  Stevens’s  side-pardner.” 

Duane  looked  him  over,  from  dusty,  worn-out 
boots  to  his  slouchy  sombrero.  That  look  seemed 
to  inflame  Bosomer. 

“An’  I want  the  hoss  an’  them  guns,”  he  shouted. 

“You  or  anybody  else  can  have  them,  for  all  I 
care.  I just  fetched  them  in.  But  the  pack  is 
mine,”  replied  Duane.  “And  say,  I befriended 
your  pard.  If  you  can’t  use  a civil  tongue  you’d 
better  cinch  it.” 

“Civil?  Haw,  haw!”  rejoined  the  outlaw.  “I 
don’t  know  you.  How  do  we  know  you  didn’t  plug 
Stevens,  an’  stole  his  hoss,  an’  jest  happened  to 
stumble  down  here?” 

“You’ll  have  to  take  my  word,  that’s  all,”  replied 
Duane,  sharply. 

“ ! I ain’t  takin’  your  word!  Savvy 

thet?  An’  I was  Luke’s  pard!” 

With  that  Bosomer  wheeled  and,  pushing  his  com- 
panions aside,  he  stamped  into  the  saloon,  where  his 
voice  broke  out  in  a roar. 

Duane  dismounted  and  threw  his  bridle. 

“Stranger,  Bosomer  is  shore  hot-headed,”  said 
the  man  Euchre.  He  did  not  appear  unfriendly, 
nor  were  the  others  hostile. 

42 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


At  this  juncture  several  more  outlaws  crowded 
out  of  the  door,  and  the  one  in  the  lead  was  a tall 
man  of  stalwart  physique.  His  manner  proclaimed 
him  a,  leader.  He  had  a long  face,  a flaming  red 
beard,  and  clear,  cold  blue  eyes  that  fixed  in  close 
scrutiny  upon  Duane.  He  was  not  a Texan;  in 
truth,  Duane  did  not  recognize  one  of  these  outlaws 
as  native  to  his  state. 

“I’m  Bland,”  said  the  tall  man,  authoritatively. 
“Who  ’re  you  and  what  ’re  you  doing  here?” 
Duane  looked  at  Bland  as  he  had  at  the  others. 
This  outlaw  chief  appeared  to  be  reasonable,  if  he 
was  not  courteous.  Duane  told  his  story  again, 
this  time  a little  more  in  detail. 

“I  believe  you,”  replied  Bland,  at  once.  “Think 
I know  when  a fellow  is  lying.” 

reckon  you’re  on  the  right  trail,”  put  in 
Euchre.  “Thet  about  Luke  wantin’  his  boots  took 
off — thet  satisfies  me.  Luke  hed  a mortal  dread  of 
dyin’  with  his  boots  on.” 

At  this  sally  the  chief  and  his  men  laughed. 
“You  said  Duane — Buck  Duane?”  queried  Bland. 
“Are  you  a son  of  that  Duane  who  was  a gun- 
fighter  some  years  back?” 

“Yes,”  replied  Duane. 

“Never  met  him,  and  glad  I didn’t,”  said  Bland, 
with  a grim  humor.  “So  you  got  in  trouble  and 
had  to  go  on  the  dodge?  What  kind  of  trouble?” 
“Had  a fight.” 

“Fight?  Do  you  mean  gun -play?”  questioned 
Bland.  He  seemed  eager,  curious,  speculative. 

“Yes.  It  ended  in  gun-play,  I’m  sorry  to  say,” 
answered,  Duane. 

4 


4? 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“Guess  I needn’t  ask  the  son  of  Duane  if  he  killed 
his  man,’’  went  on  Bland,  ironically.  “Well,  I’m 
sorry  you  bucked  against  trouble  in  my  camp.  But 
as  it  is,  I guess  you’d  be  wise  to  make  yourself  scarce.” 

“Do  you  mean  I’m  politely  told  to  move  on?” 
asked  Duane,  quietly. 

“Not  exactly  that,”  said  Bland,  as  if  irritated. 
“If  this  isn’t  a free  place  there  isn’t  one  on  earth. 
Every  man  is  equal  here.  Do  you  want  to  join  my 
band?” 

“No,  I don’t.” 

“Well,  even  if  you  did  I imagine  that  wouldn’t 
stop  Bosomer.  He’s  an  ugly  fellow.  He’s  one  of 
the  few  gunmen  I’ve  met  who  wants  to  kill  some- 
body all  the  time.  Most  men  like  that  are  four- 
flushes.  But  Bosomer  is  all  one  color,  and  that’s 
red.  Merely  for  your  own  sake  I advise  you  to  hit 
the  trail.” 

“Thanks.  But  if  that’s  all  I’ll  stay,”  returned 
Duane.  Even  as  he  spoke  he  felt  that  he  did  not 
know  himself. 

Bosomer  appeared  at  the  door,  pushing  men  who 
tried  to  detain  him,  and  as  he  jumped  clear  of  a last 
reaching  hand  he  uttered  a snarl  like  an  angry  dog. 
Manifestly  rhe  short  while  he  had  spent  inside  the 
saloon  had  been  devoted  to  drinking  and  talking 
himself  into  a frenzy.  Bland  and  the  other  outlaws 
quickly  moved  aside,  letting  Duane  stand  alone. 
When  Bosomer  saw  Duane  standing  motionless  and 
watchful  a strange  change  passed  quickly  in  him. 
He  halted  in  his  tracks,  and  as  he  did  that  the  men 
who  had  followed  him  out  piled  over  one  another 
in  their  hurry  to  get  to  one  side. 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Duane  saw  all  the  swift  action,  felt  intuitively  the 
meaning  of  it,  and  in  Bosomer’s  sudden  change  of 
front.  The  outlaw  was  keen,  and  he  had  expected 
a shrinking,  or  at  least  a frightened  antagonist. 
Duane  knew  he  was  neither.  He  felt  like  iron,  and 
yet  thrill  after  thrill  ran  through  him.  It  was  al- 
most as  if  this  situation  had  been  one  long  familiar 
to  him.  Somehow  he  understood  this  yellow-eyed 
Bosomer.  The  outlaw  had  come  out  to  kill  him. 
And  now,  though  somewhat  checked  by  the  stand 
of  a stranger,  he  still  meant  to  kill.  Like  so  many 
desperadoes  of  his  ilk,  he  was  victim  of  a passion 
to  kill  for  the  sake  of  killing.  Duane  divined  that 
no  sudden  animosity  was  driving  Bosomer.  It  was 
just  his  chance.  In  that  moment  murder  would  have 
been  joy  to  him.  Very  likely  he  had  forgotten  his  pre- 
text for  a quarrel.  Very  probably  his  faculties  were 
absorbed  in  conjecture  as  to  Duane’s  possibilities. 

But  he  did  not  speak  a word.  He  remained  mo- 
tionless for  a long  moment,  his  eyes  pale  and  steady, 
his  right  hand  like  a claw. 

That  instant  gave  Duane  a power  to  read  in  his 
enemy’s  eyes  the  thought  that  preceded  action. 
But  Duane  did  not  want  to  kill  another  man.  Still 
he  would  have  to  fight,  and  he  decided  to  cripple 
Bosomer.  When  Bosomer’s  hand  moved  Duane’s 
gun  was  spouting  fire.  Two  shots  only — both  from 
Duane’s  gun — and  the  outlaw  fell  with  his  right  arm 
shattered.  Bosomer  cursed  harshly  and  floundered 
in  the  dust,  trying  to  reach  the  gun  with  his  left 
hand.  His  comrades,  however,  seeing  that  Duane 
would  not  kill  unless  forced,  closed  in  upon  Bosomer 
and  prevented  any  further  madness  on  his  part. 


CHAPTER  V 


OP  the  outlaws  present  Euchre  appeared  to  be 
the  one  most  inclined  to  lend  friendliness  to 
curiosity;  and  he  led  Duane  and  the  horses  away 
to  a small  adobe  shack.  He  tied  the  horses  in  an 
open  shed  and  removed  their  saddles.  Then,  gather- 
ing up  Stevens’s  weapons,  he  invited  his  visitor  to 
enter  the  house. 

It  had  two  rooms — windows  without  coverings — 
barQ  floors.  One  room  contained  blankets,  weapons, 
saddles,  and  bridles;  the  other  a stone  fireplace,  rude 
table  and  bench,  two  bunks,  a box  cupboard,  and 
various  blackened  utensils. 

“Make  yourself  to  home  as  long  as  you  want  to 
stay,”  said  Euchre.  “I  ain’t  rich  in  this  world’s 
goods,  but  I own  what’s  here,  an’  you’re  welcome.” 
“Thanks.  I’ll  stay  awhile  and  rest.  I’m  pretty 
well  played  out,”  replied  Duane. 

Euchre  gave  him  a keen  glance. 

“Go  ahead  an’  rest.  I’ll  take  your  horses  to 
grass.” 

Euchre  left  Duane  alone  in  the  house.  Duane  re- 
laxed then,  and  mechanically  he  wiped  the  sweat 
from  his  face.  He  was  laboring  under  some  kind 
of  a spell  or  shock  which  did  not  pass  off  quickly. 
When  it  had  worn  away  he  took  off  his  coat  and 
belt  and  made  himself  comfortable  on  the  blankets, 

46 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


And  he  had  a thought  tha  t if  he  rested  or  slept  what 
difference  would  it  make  on  the  morrow?  No  rest, 
no  sleep  could  change  the  gray  outlook  of  the  future. 
He  felt  glad  when  Euchre  came  bustling  in,  and  for 
the  first  time  he  took  notice  of  the  outlaw. 

Euchre  was  old  in  years.  What  little  hair  he  had 
was  gray,  his  face  clean-shaven  and  full  of  wrinkles; 
his  eyes  were  half  shut  from  long  gazing  through  the 
sun  and  dust  He  stooped.  But  his  thin  frame  de- 
noted strength  and  endurance  still  unimpaired. 

“Hev  a drink  or  a smoke?”  he  asked. 

Duane  shook  his  head.  He  had  not  been  unfamil- 
iar with  whisky,  and  he  had  used  tobacco  moderate- 
ly since  he  was  sixteen.  But  now,  strangely,  he  felt 
a disgust  at  the  idea  of  stimulants.  He  did  not 
understand  clearly  what  he  felt.  There  was  that 
vague  idea  of  something  wild  in  his  blood,  some- 
thing that  made  him  fear  himself. 

Euchre  wagged  his  old  head  sympathetically. 
“Reckon  you  feel  a little  sick.  When  it  comes  to 
shootin’  I run.  What’s  your  age?” 

“I’m  twenty-three,”  replied  Duane. 

Euchre  showed  surprise.  “You’re  only  a boy!  I 
thought  you  thirty  anyways.  Buck,  I heard  what 
you  told  Bland,  an’  puttin’  thet  with  my  own  figger- 
in’,  I reckon  you’re  no  criminal  yet.  Throwin’  a 
gun  in  self-defense — thet  ain’t  no  crime!” 

Duane,  finding  relief  in  talking,  told  more  about 
himself. 

“Huh,”  replied  the  old  man.  “I’ve  been  on  this 
river  fer  years,  an’  I’ve  seen  hundreds  of  boys  come 
in  on  tlie  dodge.  Most  of  them,  though,  was  no 
good.  An’  thet  kind  don’t  last  long.  This  river 

47 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


country  has  been  an’  is  the  refuge  fer  criminals  from 
all  over  the  states.  I’ve  bunked  with  bank  cashiers, 
forgers,  plain  thieves,  an’  out-an’-out  murderers,  all 
oi  which  had  no  bizness  on  the  Texas  border.  Fel- 
lers like  Bland  are  exceptions.  He’s  no  Texan — you 
seen  thet.  The  gang  he  rules  here  come  from  all 
over,  an’  they’re  tough  cusses,  you  can  bet  on  thet. 
They  live  fat  an’  easy.  If  it  wasn’t  fer  the  fightin’ 
among  themselves  they’d  shore  grow  populous. 
The  Rim  Rock  is  no  place  for  a peaceable,  decent 
feller.  I heard  you  tell  Bland  you  wouldn’t  join 
his  gang.  Thet  ’ll  not  make  him  take  a likin’  to  you. 
Have  you  any  money?” 

“Not  much,”  replied  Duane. 

“Could  you  live  by  gamblin’?  Are  you  any  good 
at  cards?” 

“No.” 

“You  wouldn’t  steal  hosses  or  rustle  cattle?” 

“No.” 

“When  your  money’s  gone  how  ’n  hell  will  you 
live?  There  ain’t  any  work  a decent  feller  could  do. 
You  can’t  herd  with  greasers.  Why,  Bland’s  men 
would  shoot  at  you  in  the  fields.  What  ’ll  you  do, 
son?” 

“God  knows,”  replied  Duane,  hopelessly.  “I’ll 
make  my  money  last  as  long  as  possible — then 
starve.” 

“Wal,  I’m  pretty  pore,  but  you’ll  never  starve 
while  I got  anythin’.” 

Here  it  struck  Duane  again — that  something  hu- 
man and  kind  and  eager  which  he  had  seen  in 
Stevens.  Duane’s  estimate  of  outlaws  had  lacked 
this  quality.  He  had  not  accorded  them  any  vir- 

48 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


tues.  To  him,  as  to  the  outside  world,  they  had 
been  merely  vicious  men  without  one  redeeming 
feature. 

“I’m  much  obliged  to  you,  Euchre,”  replied 
Duane.  “But  of  course  I won’t  live  with  any  one 
unless  I can  pay  my  share.” 

“Have  it  any  way  you  like,  my  son,”  said  Euchre, 
good-humoredly.  “You  make  a fire,  an’  I’ll  set  about 
gettin’  grub.  I’m  a sour-dough,  Buck.  Thet  man 
doesn’t  live  who  can  beat  my  bread.” 

“How  do  you  ever  pack  supplies  in  here?”  asked 
Duane,  thinking  of  the  almost  inaccessible  nature 
of  the  valley. 

“Some  comes  across  from  Mexico,  an’  the  rest 
down  the  river.  Thet  river  trip  is  a bird.  It’s 
more’n  five  hundred  miles  to  any  supply  point. 
Bland  has  mozos,  greaser  boatmen.  Sometimes,  too, 
he  gets  supplies  in  from  down-river.  You  see, 
Bland  sells  thousands  of  cattle  in  Cuba.  An’  all 
this  stock  has  to  go  down  by  boat  to  meet  the 
ships.” 

“Where  on  earth  are  the  cattle  driven  down  to 
the  river?”  asked  Duane. 

“Thet’s  not  my  secret,”  replied  Euchre,  shortly. 
“Fact  is,  I don’t  know.  I’ve  rustled  cattle  for 
Bland,  but  he  never  sent  me  through  the  Rim  Rock 
with  them.” 

Duane  experienced  a sort  of  pleasure  in  the  realiza- 
tion that  interest  had  been  stirred  in  him.  He  was 
curious  about  Bland  and  his  gang,  and  glad  to  have 
something  to  think  about.  For  every  once  in  a 
while  he  had  a sensation  that  was  almost  like  a pang. 
He  wanted  to  forget.  In  the  next  hour  he  did  for- 

49 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


get,  and  enjoyed  helping  in  the  preparation  and 
eating  of  the  meal.  Euchre,  after  washing  and  hang- 
ing up  the  several  utensils,  put  on  his  hat  and  turned 
to  go  out. 

“Come  along  or  stay  here,  as  you  want,”  he  said 
to  Duane. 

“I’ll  stay,”  rejoined  Duane,  slowly. 

The  old  outlaw  left  the  room  and  trudged  away, 
whistling  cheerfully. 

Duane  looked  around  him  for  a book  or  paper, 
anything  to  read ; but  all  the  printed  matter  he  could 
find  consisted  of  a few  words  on  cartridge-boxes 
and  an  advertisement  on  the  back  of  a tobacco- 
pouch.  There  seemed  to  be  nothing  for  him  to  do. 
He  had  rested;  he  did  not  want  to  lie  down  any 
more.  He  began  to  walk  to  and  fro,  from  one  end 
of  the  room  to  the  other.  And  as  he  walked  he 
fell  into  the  lately  acquired  habit  of  brooding  over 
his  misfortune. 

Suddenly  he  straightened  up  with  a jerk.  Un- 
consciously he  had  drawr  his  gun.  Standing  there 
with  the  bright  cold  weapon  in  his  hand,  he  looked 
at  it  in  consternation.  How  had  he  come  to  draw 
it?  With  difficulty  he  traced  his  thoughts  back- 
ward, but  could  not  find  any  that  was  accountable 
for  his  act.  He  discovered,  however,  that  he  had 
a remarkable  tendency  to  drop  his  hand  to  his  gun. 
That  might  have  come  from  the  habit  long  practice 
in  drawing  had  given  him.  Likewise,  it  might  hare 
come  from  a subtle  sense,  scarcely  thought  of  at 
all,  of  the  late,  close,  and  inevitable  relation  between 
that  weapon  and  himself.  He  was  amazed  to  find 
that,  bitter  as  he  had  grown  at  fate,  the  desire  to 

50 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


live  burned  strong  in  him.  If  he  had  been  as  un- 
fortunately situated,  but  with  the  difference  that  no 
man  wanted  to  put  him  in  jail  or  take  his  life,  he  felt 
that  this  burning  passion  to  be  free,  to  save  himself, 
might  not  have  been  so  powerful.  Life  certainly 
held  no  bright  prospects  for  him.  Already  he  had 
begun  to  despair  of  ever  getting  back  to  his  home. 
But  to  give  up  like  a white-hearted  coward,  to  let 
himself  be  handcuffed  and  jailed,  to  run  from  a 
drunken,  bragging  cowboy,  or  be  shot  in  cold  blood 
by  some  border  brute  who  merely  wanted  to  add 
another  notch  to  his  gun — these  things  were  im- 
possible for  Duane  because  there  was  in  him  the 
temper  to  fight.  In  that  hour  he  yielded  only  to 
fate  and  the  spirit  inborn  in  him.  Hereafter  this 
gun  must  be  a living  part  of  him.  Right  then  and 
there  he  returned  to  a practice  he  had  long  discon- 
tinued— the  draw.  It  was  now  a stern,  bitter, 
deadly  business  with  him.  He  did  not  need  to  fire 
the  gun,  for  accuracy  was  a gift  and  had  become 
assured.  Swiftness  on  the  draw,  however,  could  be 
improved,  and  he  set  himself  to  acquire  the  limit  of 
speed  possible  to  any  man.  He  stood  still  in  his 
tracks;  he  paced  the  room;  he  sat  down,  lay  down, 
put  himself  in  awkward  positions;  and  from  every 
position  he  practised  throwing  his  gun — practised 
it  till  he  was  hot  and  tired  and  his  arm  ached  and 
his  hand  burned.  That  practice  he  determined  to 
keep  up  every  day.  It  was  one  thing,  at  least,  that 
would  help  pass  the  weary  hours. 

Later  he  went  outdoors  to  the  cooler  shade  of  the 
cottonwoods.  From  this  point  he  could  see  a good 
deal  of  the  valley.  Under  different  circumstances 

5i 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Duane  felt  that  he  would  have  enjoyed  such  a beau- 
tiful spot.  Euchre’s  shack  sat  against  the  first  rise 
of  the  slope  of  the  wall,  and  Duane,  by  climbing  a 
few  rods,  got  a view  of  the  whole  valley.  Assuredly 
it  was  an  outlaw  settlement.  He  saw  a good  many 
Mexicans,  who,  of  course,  were  hand  and  glove  with 
Bland.  Also  he  saw  enormous  flat-boats,  crude  of 
structure,  moored  along  the  banks  of  the  river. 
The  Rio  Grande  rolled  away  between  high  bluffs. 
A cable,  sagging  deep  in  the  middle,  was  stretched 
over  the  wide  yellow  stream,  and  an  old  scow,  evi- 
dently used  as  a ferry,  lay  anchored  on  the  far 
shore. 

The  valley  was  an  ideal  retreat  for  an  outlaw 
band  operating  on  a big  scale.  Pursuit  scarcely 
need  be  feared  over  the  broken  trails  of  the  Rim 
Rock.  And  the  open  end  of  the  valley  could  be 
defended  against  almost  any  number  of  men  coming 
down  the  river.  Access  to  Mexico  was  easy  and 
quick.  What  puzzled  Duane  was  how  Bland  got 
cattle  down  to  the  river,  and  he  wondered  if  the 
rustler  really  did  get  rid  of  his  stolen  stock  by  use 
of  boats. 

Duane  must  have  idled  considerable  time  up  on 
the  hill,  for  when  he  returned  to  the  shack  Euchre 
was  busily  engaged  around  the  camp-fire. 

“Wal,  glad  to  see  you  ain’t  so  pale  about  the  gills 
as  you  was,”  he  said,  by  way  of  greeting.  “Pitch 
in  an’  we’ll  soon  have  grub  ready.  There’s  shore 
one  consolin’  fact  round  this  here  camp.” 

“What’s  that?”  asked  Duane. 

“Plenty  of  good  juicy  beef  to  eat.  An'  it  doesn’t 
cost  a short  bit.” 


52 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“But  it  costs  hard  rides  and  trouble,  bad  con* 
science,  and  life,  too,  doesn’t  it?” 

“I  ain’t  shore  about  the  bad  conscience.  Mine 
never  bothered  me  none.  An’  as  for  life,  why,  thet’s 
cheap  in  Texas.” 

“Who  is  Bland?”  asked  Duane,  quickly  changing 
the  subject.  “What  do  you  know  about  him?” 
“We  don’t  know  who  he  is  or  where  he -hails 
from,”  replied  Euchre.  “Thet’s  always  been  some- 
thin’ to  interest  the  gang.  Pie  must  have  been  a 
young  man  when  he  struck  Texas.  Now  he’s  mid- 
dle-aged. I remember  how  years  ago  he  was  soft- 
spoken  an’  not  rough  in  talk  or  act  like  he  is  now. 
Bland  ain’t  likely  his  right  name.  He  knows  a lot. 
He  can  doctor  you,  an’  he’s  shore  a knowin’  feller 
with  tools.  He’s  the  kind  thet  rules  men.  Outlaws 
are  always  ridin’  in  here  to  join  his  gang,  an’  if  it 
hadn’t  been  fer  the  gamblin’  an’  gun-play  he’d  have 
a thousand  men  around  him.” 

“How  many  in  his  gang  now?” 

“I  reckon  there’s  short  of  a hundred  now.  The 
number  Varies.  Then  Bland  has  several  small 
camps  up  an’  down  the  river.  Also  he  has  men 
back  on  the  cattle-ranges.” 

“How  does  he  control  such  a big  force?”  asked 
Duane,  ''‘Especially  when  his  band’s  composed  of 
bad  men,  Luke  Stevens  said  he  had  no  use  for 
Bland.  And  I heard  once  somewhere  that  Bland 
was  a devil.” 

“The--’«  it.  He  is  a devil.  He’s  as  hard  as  flint, 
violent  temper,  never  made  any  friends  except 
his  righ^-hand  men,  Dave  Rugg  an’  Chess  Alloway. 
Bland  ’ll  shoot  at  a wink.  He’s  killed  a lot  of  fel- 

53 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


lers,  an’  some  fer  nothin’.  The  reason  thet  outlaws 
gather  round  him  an’  stick  is  because  he’s  a safe 
refuge,  an’  then  he’s  well  heeled.  Bland  is  rich. 
They  say  he  has  a hundred  thousand  pesos  hid  some- 
where, an’  lots  of  gold.  But  he’s  free  with  money. 
He  gambles  when  he’s  not  off  with  a shipment  of 
cattle.  He  throws  money  around.  An’  the  fact  is 
there’s  always  plenty  of  money  where  he  is.  Thet’s 
what  holds  the  gang.  Dirty,  bloody  money!” 

“It’s  a wonder  he  hasn’t  been  killed.  All  these 
years  on  the  border!”  exclaimed  Duane. 

“Wal,”  replied  Euchre,  dryly,  “he’s  been  quicker 
on  the  draw  than  the  other  fellers  who  hankered  to 
kill  him,  thet’s  all.” 

Euchre’s  reply  rather  chilled  Duane’s  interest  for 
the  moment.  Such  remarks  always  made  his  mind 
revolve  round  facts  pertaining  to  himself. 

“Speakin’  of  this  here  swift  wrist  game,”  went  on 
Euchre,  “there’s  been  considerable  talk  in  camp 
about  your  thro  win’  of  a gun.  You  know,  Buck, 
thet  among  us  fellers — us  hunted  men — there  ain’t 
anythin’  calculated  to  rouse  respect  like  a slick 
hand  with  a gun.  I heard  Bland  say  this  after- 
noon— an’  he  said  it  serious-like  an’  speculative — 
thet  he’d  never  seen  your  equal.  He  was  watchin’  of 
you  close,  he  said,  an’  just  couldn’t  follow  your  hand 
when  you  drawed.  All  the  fellers  who  seen  you 
meet  Bosomer  had  somethin’  to  say.  Bo  was  about 
as  handy  with  a gun  as  any  man  in  this  camp, 
barrin’  Chess  Alloway  an’  mebbe  Bland  himself. 
Chess  is  the  captain  with  a Colt — or  he  was.  An’ 
he  shore  didn’t  like  the  references  made  about  your 
speed.  Bland  was  honest  in  acknowledgin’  it,  but 

54 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


ne  didn’t  like  it,  neither.  Some  of  the  fellers  al- 
lowed your  draw  might  have  been  just  accident. 
But  most  of  them  figgered  different.  An’  they  all 
shut  up  when  Bland  told  who  an’  what  your  Dad 
was.  ’Pears  to  me  I once  seen  your  Dad  in  a gun- 
scrape  over  at  Santone,  years  ago.  Wal,  I put  my 
oar  in  to-day  among  the  fellers,  an’  I says:  ‘What 
ails  you  locoed  gents?  Did  young  Duane  budge  an 
inch  when  Bo  came  roarin’  out,  blood  in  his  eye? 
Wasn’t  he  cool  an’  quiet,  steady  of  lips,  an’  weren’t 
his  eyes  readin’  Bo’s  mind?  An’  thet  lightnin’ 
draw — can’t  you-all  see  thet’s  a family  gift?’” 

Euchre’s  narrow  eyes  twinkled,  and  he  gave  the 
dough  he  was  rolling  a slap  with  his  flour-whitened 
hand.  Manifestly  he  had  proclaimed  himself  a 
champion  and  partner  of  Duane’s,  with  all  the  pride 
an  old  man  could  feel  in  a young  one  whom  he 
admired. 

“Wal,”  he  resumed,  presently,  “thet’s  your  intro- 
duction to  the  border,  Buck.  An’  your  card  was  a 
high  trump.  You’ll  be  let  severely  alone  by  real 
gun-fighters  an’  men  like  Bland,  Alloway,  Rugg, 
an’  the  bosses  of  the  other  gangs.  After  all,  these 
real  men  are  men,  you  know,  an’  onless  you  cross 
them  they’re  no  more  likely  to  interfere  with  you 
than  you  are  with  them.  But  there’s  a sight  of 
fellers  like  Bosomer  in  the  river  country.  They’ll 
all  want  your  game.  An’  every  town  you  ride  into 
will  scare  up  some  cowpuncher  full  of  booze  or  a 
long-haired  four-flush  gunman  or  a sheriff  — an’ 
these  men  will  be  playin’  to  the  crowd  an’  yellin’ 
for  your  blood.  Thet’s  the  Texas  of  it.  You’ll  have 
to  hide  fer  ever  in  the  brakes  or  you’ll  have  to  kill 

55 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


such  men.  Buck,  I reckon  this  ain’t  cheerful  news 
to  a decent  chap  like  you.  I’m  only  tellin’  you  be- 
cause I’ve  taken  a likin’  to  you,  an’  I seen  right  off 
thet  you  ain’t  border  - wise.  Let’s  eat  now,  an’ 
afterward  wre’ll  go  out  so  the  gang  can  see  you’re 
not  hidin’.” 

When  Duane  went  out  with  Euchre  the  sun  was 
setting  behind  a blue  range  of  mountains  across  the 
river  in  Mexico.  The  valley  appeared  to  open  to 
the  southwest.  It  was  a tranquil,  beautiful  scene. 
Somewhere  in  a house  near  at  hand  a woman  was 
singing.  And  in  the  road  Duane  saw  a little  Mexi- 
can boy  driving  home  some  cows,  one  of  which  wore 
a bell.  The  sweet,  happy  voice  of  a woman  and  a 
whistling  barefoot  boy — these  seemed  utterly  out  of 
place  here. 

Euchre  presently  led  to  the  square  and  the  row 
of  rough  houses  Duane  remembered.  He  almost 
stepped  on  a wide  imprint  in  the  dust  where  Bosomer 
had  confronted  him.  And  a sudden  fury  beset  him 
that  he  should  be  affected  strangely  by  the  sight  of  it. 

“Let’s  have  a look  in  here,”  said  Euchre. 

Duane  had  to  bend  his  head  to  enter  the  door. 
He  found  himself  in  a very  large  room  inclosed  by 
adobe  walls  and  roofed  with  brush.  It  was  full  of 
rude  benches,  tables,  seats.  At  one  comer  a num- 
ber of  kegs  and  barrels  lay  side  by  side  in  a rack. 
A Mexican  boy  was  lighting  lamps  hung  on  posts 
that  sustained  the  log  rafters  of  the  roof. 

“The  only  feller  who’s  goin’  to  put  a close  eye  on 
you  is  Benson,”  said  Euchre.  “He  runs  the  place 
an’  sells  drinks.  The  gang  calls  him  Jackrabbit 

56 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Benson,  because  he’s  always  got  his  eye  peeled  an’ 
his  ear  cocked.  Don’t  notice  him  if  he  looks  you 
over,  Buck.  Benson  is  scared  to  death  of  every 
new-comer  who  rustles  into  Bland’s  camp.  An’ 
the  reason,  I take  it,  is  because  he’s  done  somebody 
dirt.  He’s  hidin’.  Not  from  a sheriff  or  ranger! 
Men  who  hide  from  them  don’t  act  like  Jackrabbit 
Benson.  He’s  hidin’  from  some  guy  who’s  huntin’ 
him  to  kill  him.  Wal,  I’m  always  expectin’  to  see 
some  feller  ride  in  here  an’  throw  a gun  on  Benson. 
Can’t  say  I’d  be  grieved.” 

Duane  casually  glanced  in  the  direction  indicated, 
and  he  saw  a spare,  gaunt  man  with  a face  strikingly 
white  beside  the  red  and  bronze  and  dark  skins  of 
the  men  around  him.  It  was  a cadaverous  face. 
The  black  mustache  hung  down;  a heavy  lock  of 
black  hair  dropped  down  over  the  brow;  deep-set, 
hollow,  staring  eyes  looked  out  piercingly.  The 
man  had  a restless,  alert,  nervous  manner.  He  put 
his  hands  on  the  board  that  served  as  a bar  and 
stared  at  Duar«.  But  when  he  met  Duane’s  glance 
he  turned  hurriedly  to  go  on  serving  out  liquor. 

“What  have  you  got  against  him?”  inquired 
Duane,  as  he  sat  down  beside  Euchre.  He  asked 
more  for  something  to  say  than  from  real  interest. 
What  did  he  care  about  a mean,  haunted,  craven- 
faced criminal? 

“Wal,  mebbe  I’m  cross-grained,”  replied  Euchre, 
apologetically.  “Shore  an  outlaw  an’  rustler  such 
as  me  can’t  be  touchy.  But  I never  stole  nothin' 
but  cattle  from  some  rancher  who  never  missed  ’em 
anyway.  Thet  sneak  Benson — he  was  the  means  of 
puttin’  a little  girl  in  Bland’s  way.” 

57 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“Girl?”  queried  Duane,  now  with  real  attention. 

“Shore.  Bland’s  great  on  women.  I’ll  tell  you 
about  this  girl  when  we  get  out  of  here.  Some  of 
the  gang  are  goin’  to  be  sociable,  an’  I can’t  talk 
about  the  chief.” 

During  the  ensuing  half-hour  a number  of  out- 
laws passed  by  Duane  and  Euchre,  halted  for  a greet- 
ing or  sat  down  for  a moment.  They  were  all  gruff, 
loud-voiced,  merry,  and  good-natured.  Duane  re- 
plied civilly  and  agreeably  when  he  was  personally 
addressed;  but  he  refused  all  invitations  to  drink 
and  gamble.  Evidently  he  had  been  accepted,  in 
a way,  as  one  of  their  clan.  No  one  made  any  hint 
of  an  allusion  to  his  affair  with  Bosomer.  Duane 
saw  readily  that  Euchre  was  well  liked.  One  out- 
law borrowed  money  from  him:  another  asked  for 
tobacco. 

By  the  time  it  was  dark  the  big  room  was  full  of 
outlaws  and  Mexicans,  most  of  whom  were  engaged 
at  monte.  These  gamblers,  especially  the  Mexicans, 
were  intense  and  quiet.  The  noise  in  the  place  came 
from  the  drinkers,  the  loungers.  Duane  had  seen 
gambling-resorts — some  of  the  famous  ones  in  San 
Antonio  and  El  Paso,  a few  in  border  towns  where 
license  went  unchecked.  But  this  place  of  Jack- 
rabbit  Benson’s  impressed  him  as  one  where  guns 
and  knives  were  accessories  to  the  game.  To  his 
perhaps  rather  distinguishing  eye  the  most  promi- 
nent thing  about  the  gamesters  appeared  to  be  their 
weapons.  On  several  of  the  tables  were  piles  of 
silver — Mexican  pesos — as  large  and  high  as  the 
crown  of  his  hat.  There  were  also  piles  of  gold  and 
silver  in  United  States  coin.  Duane  needed  no 

58 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

experienced  eyes  to  see  that  betting  was  heavy  and 
that  heavy  sums  exchanged  hands.  The  Mexicans 
showed  a sterner  obsession,  an  intenser  passion. 
Some  of  the  Americans  staked  freely,  nonchalantly, 
as  befitted  men  to  whom  money  was  nothing. 
These  latter  were  manifestly  winning,  for  there  were 
brother  outlaws  there  who  wagered  coin  with  grudg- 
ing, sullen,  greedy  eyes.  Boisterous  talk  and  laugh- 
ter among  the  drinking  men  drowned,  except  at 
intervals,  the  low,  brief  talk  of  the  gamblers.  The 
clink  of  coin  sounded  incessantly;  sometimes  just 
low,  steady  musical  rings;  and  again,  when  a pile 
was  tumbled  quickly,  there  was  a silvery  crash. 
Here  an  outlaw  pounded  on  a table  with  the  butt  of 
his  gun;  there  another  noisily  palmed  a roll  of  dol- 
lars while  he  studied  his  opponent’s  face.  The 
noises,  however,  in  Benson’s  den  did  not  contribute 
to  any  extent  to  the  sinister  aspect  of  the  place. 
That  seemed  to  come  from  the  grim  and  reckless 
faces,  from  the  bent,  intent  heads,  from  the  dark 
lights  and  shades.  There  were  bright  lights,  but 
these  served  only  to  make  the  shadows.  And  in 
the  shadows  lurked  unrestrained  lust  of  gain,  a spirit 
ruthless  and  reckless,  a something  at  once  suggesting 
lawlessness,  theft,  murder,  and  hell. 

“Bland’s  not  here  to-night,”  Euchre  was  saying. 
“He  left  to-day  on  one  of  his  trips,  takin’  Alloway 
an’  some  others.  Btit  his  other  man,  Rugg,  he’s 
here.  See  him  standin’  with  them  three  fellers,  all 
close  to  Benson.  Rugg’s  the  little  bow-legged  man 
with  the  half  of  his  face  shot  off.  He’s  one-eyed. 
But  he  can  shore  see  out  of  the  one  he’s  got.  An!, 
darn  me!  there’s  Hardin.  You  know  him?  He’s 
§ 59 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


got  an  outlaw  gang  as  big  as  Bland’s.  Hardin  is 
standin’  next  to  Benson.  See  how  quiet  an’  unas- 
sumin’ he  looks.  Yes,  thet’s  Hardin.  He  comes 
here  once  in  a while  to  see  Bland.  They’re  friends, 
which ’s  shore  strange.  Do  you  see  thet  greaser 
there — the  one  with  gold  an’  lace  on  his  sombrero? 
Thet’s  Manuel,  a Mexican  bandit.  He’s  a great 
gambler.  Co  nes  here  often  to  drop  his  coin.  Next 
to  him  is  Bui  Marr — the  feller  with  the  bandana 
round  his  head.  Bill  rode  in  the  othe”  day  with 
some  fresh  bullet-holes.  He’s  been  shot  more’n  any 
feller  I ever  heard  of.  He’s  full  of  lead.  Funny, 
because  Bill’s  no  trouble-hunter,  an’,  like  me,  he’d 
rather  run  than  shoot.  But  he’s  the  best  rustler 
Bland’s  got — a grand  rider,  an’  a wonder  with 
cattle.  An’  see  the  tow-headed  youngster.  Thet’s 
Kid  Fuller,  the  kid  of  Bland’s  gang.  Fuller  has  hit 
the  pace  hard,  an’  he  won’t  last  the  year  out  on  the 
border.  He  killed  his  sweetheart’s  father,  got  run 
out  of  Staceytown,  took  to  stealin’  hosses.  An’  next 
he’s  here  with  Bland.  Another  boy  gone  wrong, 
an’  now  shore  a hard  nut.” 

Euchre  went  on  calling  Duane’s  attention  to  other 
men,  just  as  he  happened  to  glance  over  them.  Any 
one  of  them  would  have  been  a marked  man  in  a 
respectable  crowd.  Here  each  took  his  place  with 
more  or  less  distinction,  according  to  the  record  of 
his  past  wild  prowess  and  his1  present  possibilities. 
Duane,  realizing  that  he  was  tolerated  there,  re- 
ceived in  careless  friendly  spirit  by  this  terrible  class 
of  outcasts,  experienced  a feeling  of  revulsion  that 
amounted  almost  to  horror.  Was  his  being  there 
not  an  ugly  dream?  What  had  he  in  common  with 

60 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


such  ruffians?  Then  in  a flash  of  memory  came  the 
painful  proof — he  was  a criminal  in  sight  of  Texas 
law;  he,  too,  was  an  outcast. 

For  the  moment  Duane  was  wrapped  up  in  pain- 
ful reflections:  but  Euchre’s  heavy  hand,  clapping 
with  a warning  hold  on  his  arm,  brought  him  back 
to  outside  things. 

The  hum  of  voices,  the  clink  of  coin,  the  loud 
laughter  had  ceased.  There  was  a silence  that  man- 
ifestly had  followed  some  unusual  word  or  action 
sufficient  to  still  the  room.  It  was  broken  by  a 
harsh  curse  and  the  scrape  of  a bench  on  the  floor. 
Some  man  had  risen. 

/‘You  stacked  the  cards,  you !” 

“Say  that  twice,”  another  voice  replied,  so  dif- 
ferent in  its  cool,  ominous  tone  from  the  other. 

“I’ll  say  it  twice,”  returned  the  first  gamester, 
in  hot  haste.  “I’ll  say  it  three  times.  I’ll  whistle 
it.  Are  you  deaf?  You  light-fingered  gent!  You 
stacked  the  cards!” 

Silence  ensued,  deeper  than  before,  pregnant  with 
meaning.  For  all  that  Duane  saw,  not  an  outlaw 
moved  for  a full  moment.  Then  suddenly  the  room 
was  full  of  disorder  as  men  rose  and  ran  and  dived 
everywhere. 

“Run  or  duck!”  yelled  Euchre,  close  to  Duane’s 
ear.  With  that  he  dashed  for  the  door.  Duane 
leaped  after  him.  They  ran  into  a jostling  mob. 
Heavy  gun  - shots  and  hoarse  yells  hurried  the 
crowd  Duane  was  with  pell  - mell  out  into  the 
darkness.  There  they  all  halted,  and  several 
peeped  in  at  the  door. 

“Who  was  the  Kid  callin’?”  asked  one  outlaw. 

61 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“Bud  Marsh,”  replied  another. 

“I  reckon  them  fust  shots  was  Bud’s.  Adios  K.3. 
It  was  cornin’  to  him,”  went  on  yet  another. 

“How  many  shots?” 

“Three  or  four,  I counted.” 

“Three  heavy  an’  one  light.  Thet  light  one  was 
the  Kid’s  .38.  Listen!  There’s  the  Kid  hollerin’ 
now.  He  ain’t  cashed,  anyway.” 

At  this  juncture  most  of  the  outlaws  began  to  file 
back  into  the  room.  Duane  thought  he  had  seen 
and  heard  enough  in  Benson’s  den  for  one  night 
and  he  started  slowly  down  the  walk.  Presently 
Euchre  caught  up  with  him. 

“Nobody  hurt  much,  which’s  shore  some  strange,” 
he  said.  “The  Kid — young  Fuller  thet  I was  tellin’ 
you  about — he  was  drinkin’  an’  losin’.  Lost  his 
nut,  too,  callin’  Bud  Marsh  thet  way.  Bud’s  as 
straight  at  cards  as  any  of  ’em.  Somebody  grabbed 
Bud,  who  shot  into  the  roof.  An’  Fuller’s  arm  was 
knocked  up.  He  only  hit  a greaser.” 


CHAPTER  VI 


NEX'  r morning  Duane  found  that  a moody  and 
despondent  spell  had  fastened  on  him.  Wish- 
ing to  be  alone,  he  went  out  and  walked  a trail  lead- 
ing round  the  river  bluff.  He  thought  and  thought. 
After  a while  he  made  out  that  the  trouble  with  him 
probably  was  that  he  could  not  resign  himself  to 
his  fate.  He  abhorred  the  possibility  chance  seemed 
to  hold  in  store  for  him.  He  could  not  believe  there 
was  no  hope.  But  what  to  do  appeared  beyond  his 
power  to  tell. 

Duane  had  intelligence  and  keenness  enough  to 
see  his  peril — the  danger  threatening  his  character 
as  a man,  just  as  much  as  that  which  threatened  his 
life.  He  cared  vastly  more,  he  discovered,  for  what 
he  considered  honor  and  integrity  than  he  did  for 
life.  He  saw  that  it  was  bad  for  him  to  be  alone. 
But,  it  appeared,  lonely  months  and  perhaps  years 
inevitably  must  be  his.  Another  thing  puzzled  him. 
In  the  bright  light  of  day  he  could  not  recall  the 
state  of  mind  that  was  his  at  twilight  or  dusk  or  in 
the  dark  night.  By  day  these  visitations  became 
to  him  what  they  really  were  — phantoms  of  his 
conscience.  He  could  dismiss  the  thought  of  them 
then.  He  could  scarcely  remember  or  believe  that 
this  strange  fuat  of  fancy  or  imagination  had  troubled 
him,  pained  him,  made  him  sleepless  and  sick. 

63 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


That  morning  Duane  spent  an  unhappy  hour 
wrestling  decision  out  of  the  unstable  condition  of 
his  mind.  But  at  length  he  determined  to  create 
interest  in  all  that  he  came  across  and  so  forget 
himself  as  much  as  possible.  He  had  an  oppor- 
tunity now  to  see  just  what  the  outlaw’s  life  really 
was.  He  meant  to  force  himself  to  be  curious,  sym- 
pathetic, clear-sighted.  And  he  would  stay  there 
in  the  valley  until  its  possibilities  had  been  ex- 
hausted or  until  circumstances  sent  him  out  upon 
his  uncertain  way. 

When  he  returned  to  the  shack  Euchre  was  cook- 
ing dinner. 

“Say,  Buck,  I’ve  news  for  you,”  he  said;  and  his 
tone  conveyed  either  pride  in  his  possession  of  such 
news  or  pride  in  Duane.  “Feller  named  Bradley 
rode  in  this  mornin’.  He’s  heard  some  about  you. 
Told  about  the  ace  of  spades  they  put  over  the 
bullet-holes  in  thet  cowpuncher  Bain  you  plugged. 
Then  there  was  a rancher  shot  at  a water-hole  twenty 
miles  south  of  Weilston.  Reckon  you  didn’t  do  it?” 
“No,  I certainly  did  not,”  replied  Duane. 

“Wal,  you  get  the  blame.  It  ain’t  nothin’  for 
a feller  to  be  saddled  with  gun-plays  he  never  made. 
An’,  Buck,  if  you  ever  get  famous,  as  seems  likely, 
you’ll  be  blamed  for  many  a gfime.  The  border  ’ll 
make  an  outlaw  an’  murderer  out  of  you.  Wal, 
thet’s  enough  of  thet.  I’ve  more  news.  You’re 
goin’  to  be  popular.” 

“Popular?  What  do  you  mean?” 

“I  met  Bland’s  wife  this  mornin’.  She  seen  you 
the  other  day  when  you  rode  in.  She  shore  wants 
to  meet  you,  an’  so  do  some  of  the  other  women 

64 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


in  camp.  They  always  want  to  meet  the  new  fellers 
who’ve  just  come  in.  It’s  lonesome  for  women 
here,  an’  they  like  to  hear  news  from  the  towns.” 
‘‘Well,  Euchre,  I don’t  want  to  be  impolite,  but 
I’d  rather  not  meet  any  women,”  rejoined  Duane. 

‘‘I  was  afraid  you  wouldn’t.  Don’t  blame  you 
much.  Women  are  hell.  I was  hopin’,  though, 
you  might  talk  a little  to  thet  poor  lonesome  kid.” 
“What  kid?”  inquired  Duane,  in  surprise. 
“Didn’t  I tell  you  about  Jennie — the  girl  Bland’s 
holdin’  here — the  one  Jackrabbit  Benson  had  a hand 
in  stealin’?” 

“You  mentioned  a girl.  That’s  all.  Tell  me 
now,”  replied  Duane,  abruptly. 

“Wal,  I got  it  this  way.  Mebbe  it’s  straight,  an’ 
mebbe  it  ain’t.  Some  years  ago  Benson  made  a 
trip  over  the  river  to  buy  mescal  an’  other  drinks. 
He’ll  sneak  over  there  once  in  a while.  An’  as  I get 
it  he  run  across  a gang  of  greasers  with  some  gringo 
prisoners.  I don’t  know,  but  I reckon  there  was 
some  barterin’,  perhaps  murderin’.  Anyway,  Ben- 
son fetched  the  girl  back.  She  was  more  dead  than 
alive.  But  it  turned  out  she  was  only  tarved  an’ 
scared  half  to  death.  She  hadn’t  been  harmed.  I 
reckon  she  was  then  about  fourteen  years  old. 
Benson’s  idee,  he  said,  was  to  use  her  in  his  den 
sellin’  drinks  an’  the  like.  But  I never  went  much 
on  Jackrabbit’s  word.  Bland  seen  the  kid  right  off 
and  took  her — bought  her  from  Benson.  You  can 
gamble  Bland  didn’t  do  thet  from  notions  of  chiv- 
alry. I ain’t  gainsayin’,  however,  but  thet  Jennie 
was  better  off  with  Kate  Bland.  She’s  been  hard 
on  Jennie,  but  she’s  kept  Bland  an’  the  other  men 

65 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


from  treatin’  the  kid  shameful.  Late  Jennie  has 
growed  into  an  all-fired  pretty  girl,  an’  Kate  is 
powerful  jealous  of  her.  I can  see  hell  brewin’  over 
there  in  Bland’s  cabin.  Thet’s  why  I wish  you’d 
come  over  with  me.  Bland’s  hardly  ever  home. 
His  wife’s  invited  you.  Shore,  if  she  gets  sweet  on 
you,  as  she  has  on — Wal,  thet ’d  complicate  mat- 
ters. But  you’d  get  to  see  Jennie,  an’  mebbe  you 
could  help  her.  Mind,  I ain’t  hintin’  nothin’. 
I’m  just  wantin’  to  put  her  in  your  way.  You’re 
a man  an’  can  think  fer  yourself.  I had  a baby  girl 
once,  an’  if  she’d  lived  she  be  as  big  as  Jennie  now, 
an’,  by  Gawd,  I wouldn’t  want  her  here  in  Bland’s 
camp.”  ' - 

“I’ll  go,  Euchre.  Take  me  over,”  replied  Duane. 
He  felt  Euchre’s  eyes  upon  him.  The  old  outlaw, 
however,  had  no  more  to  say. 

In  the  afternoon  Euchre  set  off  with  Duane,  and 
soon  they  reached  Bland’s  cabin.  Duane  remem- 
bered it  as  the  one  where  he  had  seen  the  pretty 
woman  watching  him  ride  by.  He  could  not  recall 
what  she  looked  like.  The  cabin  was  the  same  as 
the  other  adobe  structures  in  the  valley,  but  it  was 
larger  and  pleasantly  located  rather  high  up  in  a 
grove  of  cottonwoods.  In  the  windows  and  upon 
the  porch  were  evidences  of  a woman’s  hand. 
Through  the  open  door  Duane  caught  a glimpse  of 
bright  Mexican  blankets  and  rugs. 

Euchre  knocked  upon  the  side  of  the  door. 

“Is  that  you,  Euchre?”  asked  a girl’s  voice,  low, 
hesitatingly.  The  tone  of  it,  rather  deep  and  with 
a note  of  fear,  struck  Duane.  He  wondered  what 
she  would  be  like. 


66 


THE  LONE'  STAR  RANGER 


“Yes,  it’s  me,  Jennie.  Where’s  Mrs.  Bland?” 
answered  Euchre. 

“She  went  over  to  Deger’s.  There’s  somebody 
sick,”  replied  the  girl. 

Euchre  turned  and  whispered  something  about 
luck.  The  snap  of  the  outlaw’s  eyes  was  added  sig- 
nificance to  Duane. 

“Jennie,  come  out  or  let  us  come  in.  Here’s  the 
young  man  I was  tellin’  you  about,”  Euchre  said. 

“Oh,  I can’t!  I look  so — so — ” 

“Never  mind  how  you  look,”  interrupted  the  out- 
law, in  a whisper.  “It  ain’t  no  time  to  care  fer  thet. 
Here’s  young  Duane.  Jennie,  he’s  no  rustler,  no 
thief.  He’s  different.  Come  out,  Jennie,  an’  mebbe 
he’ll—” 

Euchre  did  not  complete  his  sentence.  He  had 
spoken  low,  with  his  glance  shifting  from  side  to  side. 

But  what  he  said  was  sufficient  to  bring  the  girl 
quickly.  She  appeared  in  the  doorway  with  down- 
cast eyes  and  a stain  of  red  in  her  white  cheek.  She 
had  a pretty,  sad  face  and  bright  hair. 

“Don’t  be  bashful,  Jennie,”  said  Euchre.  “You 
an’  Duane  have  a chance  to  talk  a little.  Now  I’ll 
go  fetch  Mrs.  Bland,  but  I won’t  be  hurryin’.” 

With  that  Euchre- went  away  through  the  cotton- 
woods. 

“I’m  glad  to  meet  you,  Miss — Miss  Jennie,”  said 
Duane.  “Euchre  didn’t  mention  your  last  name. 
He  asked  me  to  come  over  to — ” 

Duane’s  attemot  at  pleasantry  halted  short  when 
Jennie  lifted  her  lashes  to  look  at  him.  Some  kind 
of  a shock  went  through  Duane.  Her  gray  eyes 
were  beautiful,  out  it  had  not  been  beauty  that  cut 

67 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


short  his  speech.  He  seemed  to  see  a tragic  struggle 
between  hope  and  doubt  that  shone  in  her  piercing 
gaze.  She  kept  looking,  and  Duane  could  not  break 
the  silence.  It  was  no  ordinary  moment. 

“What  did  you  come  here  for?”  she  asked,  at  last. 

“To  see  you,”  replied  Duane,  glad  to  speak. 

“Why?” 

“Well — Euchre  thought — he  wanted  me  to  talk 
to  you,  cheer  you  up  a bit,”  replied  Duane,  some- 
what lamely.  The  earnest  eyes  embarrassed  him. 

“Euchre’s  good.  He’s  the  only  person  in  this 
awful  place  who’s  been  good  to  me.  But  he's 
afraid  of  Bland.  He  said  you  were  different.  Who 
are  you?” 

Duane  told  her. 

“You’re  not  a robber  or  rustler  or  murderer  or 
some  bad  man  come  here  to  hide?” 

“No,  I’m  not,”  replied  Duane,  trying  to  smile. 

“Then  why  are  you  here?” 

“I’m  on  the  dodge.  You  know  what  that  means. 
I got  in  a shooting-scrape  at  home  and  had  to  run 
off.  When  it  blows  over  I hope  to  go  back.” 

“But  vou  can’t  be  honest  here?” 

“Yes,  I can.” 

“Oh,  I know  what  these  outlaws  are.  Yes,  you’re 
different.”  She  kept  the  strained  gaze  upon  him, 
but  hope  was  kindling,  and  the  hard  lines  of  her 
youthful  face  were  softening. 

Something  sweet  and  warm  stirred  deep  in  Duane 
as  he  realized  the  unfortunate  girl  was  experiencing 
a birth  of  trust  in  him. 

“O  God!  Maybe  you’re  the  man  to  save  me — 
to  take  me  away  before  it’s  too  late!” 

68 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Duane’s  spirit  leaped. 

“Maybe  I am,”  he  replied,  instantly. 

She  seemed  to  check  a blind  impulse  to  ran  into 
his  arms.  Her  cheek  flamed,  her  lips  quivered,  her 
bosom  swelled  under  her  ragged  dress.  Then  the 
glow  began  to  fade;  doubt  once  more  assailed  her. 

“It  can’t  be.  You’re  only — after  me,  too,  like 
Bland — like  all  of  them.” 

Duane’s  long  arms  went  out  and  his  hands  clasped 
her  shoulders.  He  shook  her. 

“Look  at  me — straight  in  the  eye.  There  are 
decent  men.  Haven’t  you  a father — a brother?” 
“They’re  dead — killed  by  raiders.  We  lived  in 
Dimmit  County.  I was  carried  away,”  Jennie  re- 
plied, hurriedly.  She  put  up  an  appealing  hand  to 
him.  “Forgive  me.  I believe — I know  you’re  good. 
It  was  only — I live  so  much  in  fear — I’m  half  crazy 
— I’ve  almost  forgotten  what  good  men  are  like. 
Mister  Duane,  you’ll  help  me?” 

“Yes,  Jennie,  I will.  Tell  me  how.  What  must 
I do?  Have  you  any  plan?” 

“Oh  no.  But  take  me  away.” 

“I’ll  try,”  said  Duane,  simply.  “That  won’t  be 
easy,  though.  I must  have  time  to  think.  You 
must  help  me.  There  are  many  things  to  con- 
sider. Horses,  food,  trails,  and  then  the  best  time 
to  make  the  attempt.  Are  you  watched  — kept 
prisoner?” 

“No.  I could  have  run  off  lots  of  times.  But  f 
was  afraid.  I’d  only  have  fallen  into  worse  hands. 
Euchre  has  told  me  that.  Mrs.  Bland  beats  me, 
half  starves  me,  but  she  has  kept  me  from  her  hus- 
band and  these  other  dogs.  She’s  been  as  good  as 

69 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


that,  and  I’m  grateful.  She  hasn’t  done  it  for  love 
of  me,  though.  She  always  hated  me.  And  lately 
she’s  growing  jealous.  There  was  a man  came  here 
by  the  name  of  Spence — so  he  called  himself.  He 
tried  to  be  kind  to  me.  But  she  wouldn’t  let  him. 
She  was  in  love  with  him.  She’s  a bad  woman. 
Bland  finally  shot  Spence,  and  that  ended  that. 
She’s  been  jealous  ever  since.  I hear  her  fighting 
with  Bland  about  me.  She  swears  she’ll  kill  me 
before  he  gets  me.  And  Bland  laughs  in  her  face. 
Then  I’ve  heard  Chess  Alloway  try  to  persuade 
Bland  to  give  me  to  him.  But  Bland  doesn’t  laugh 
then.  Just  lately  before  Bland  went  away  things 
almost  came  to  a head.  I couldn’t  sleep.  I wished 
Mrs.  Bland  would  kill  me.  I’ll  certainly  kill  my- 
self if  they  ruin  me.  Duane,  you  must  be  quick  if 
you’d  save  me.” 

“I  realize  that,”  replied  he,  thoughtfully.  “I 
think  my  difficulty  will  be  to  fool  Mrs.  Bland.  If 
she  suspected  me  she’d  have  the  whole  gang  of  out- 
laws on  me  at  once.” 

“She  would  that.  You’ve  got  to  be  careful- — and 
quick.” 

“What  kind  of  woman  is  she?”  inquired  Duane. 

“She’s — she’s  brazen.  I’ve  heard  her  with  her 
lovers.  They  get  drunk  sometimes  when  Bland’s 
away.  She’s  got  a terrible  temper.  She’s  vain. 
She  likes  flattery.  Oh,  you  could  fool  her  easy 
enough  if  you’d  lower  yourself  to — to — ” 

“To  make  love  to  her?”  interrupted  Duane. 

Jennie  bravely  turned  shamed  eyes  to  meet  his. 

“My  girl,  I’d  do  worse  than  that  to  get  you  awwv 
from  here,”  he  said,  bluntly. 

70 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGES 


“But — Duane,”  she  faltered,  and  again  she  put 
out  the  appealing  hand.  “Bland  will  kill  you.” 

Duane  made  no  reply  to  this.  He  was  trying  to 
still  a rising  strange  tumult  in  his  breast.  The  old 
emotion — the  rush  of  an  instinct  to  kill ! He  turned 
cold  all  over. 

“Chess  Alloway  will  kill  you  if  Bland  doesn’t,” 
went  on  Jennie,  with  her  tragic  eyes  on  Duane’s. 

“Maybe  he  will,”  replied  Duane.  It  was  diffi- 
cult for  him  to  force  a smile.  But  he  achieved 
one. 

“Oh,  better  take  me  off  at  once,”  she  said.  “Save 
me  without  risking  so  much — without  making  love 
to  Mrs.  Bland!” 

“Surely,  if  I can.  There!  I see  Euchre  coming 
with  a woman.” 

“That’s  her.  Oh,  she  mustn’t  see  me  with  you.” 

“Wait — a moment,”  whispered  Duane,  as  Jennie 
slipped  indoors.  “We’ve  settled  it.  Don't  for- 
get. I’ll  find  some  way  to  get  word  to  you,  perhaps 
through  Euchre.  Meanwhile  keep  up  your  cour- 
age. Remember  I’ll  save  you  somehow.  We’ll  try 
strategy  first.  "Whatever  you  see  or  hear  me  do, 
don’t  think  less  of  me — ” 

Jennie  cheeked  him  with  a gesture  and  a won- 
derful gray  flash  of  eyes. 

“I’ll  bless  you  with  every  drop  of  blood  in  my 
heart,”  she  whispered,  passionately. 

It  was  only  as  she  turned  away  into  the  room  that 
Duane  saw  she  was  lame  and  that  she  wore  Mexican 
sandals  over  bare  feet. 

He  sat  down  upon  a bench  on  the  porch  and  di- 
rected his  attention  to  the  approaching  couple.  The 

n 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


trees  of  the  grove  were  thick  enough  for  him  to  make 
reasonably  sure  that  Mrs.  Bland  had  not  seen  him 
talking  to  Jennie.  When  the  outlaw’s  wife  drew 
near  Duane  saw  that  she  was  a tall,  strong,  full- 
bodied  woman,  rather  good-looking  with  a full- 
blown, bold  attractiveness.  Duane  was  more  con- 
cerned with  her  expression  than  with  her  good  looks ; 
and  as  she  appeared  unsuspicious  he  felt  relieved. 
The  situation  then  took  on  a singular  zest. 

Euchre  came  up  on  the  porch  and  awkwardly  in- 
troduced Duane  to  Mrs.  Bland.  She  was  young, 
probably  not  over  twenty-five,  and  not  quite  so 
prepossessing  at  close  range.  Her  eyes  were  large, 
rather  prominent,  and  brown  in  color.  Her  mouth, 
too,  was  large,  with  the  lips  full,  and  she  had  white 
teeth. 

Duane  took  her  proffered  hand  and  remarked 
frankly  that  he  was  glad  to  meet  her. 

Mrs.  Bland  appeared  pleased;  and  her  laugh, 
which  followed,  was  loud  and  rather  musical. 

“Mr.  Duane — Buck  Duane,  Euchre  said,  didn’t 
he?”  she  asked. 

“Buckley,”  corrected  Duane.  “The  nickname’s 

not  of  my  choosing.” 

“I’m  certainly  glad  to  meet  you,  Buckley  Duane,” 
she  said,  as  she  took  the  seat  Duane  offered  her. 
“Sorry  to  have  been  out.  Kid  Fuller’s  lying  over 
at  Deger’s.  You  know  he  was  shot  last  night. 
He’s  got  fever  to-day.  When  Bland’s  away  I have 
to  nurse  all  these  shot-up  boys,  and  it  sure  takes 
my  time.  Have  you  been  waiting  here  alone? 
Didn’t  see  that  slattern  girl  of  mine?” 

She  gave  him  a sharp  glance.  The  woman  had 

72 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


an  extraordinary  play  of  feature,  Duane  thought, 
and  unless  she  was  smiling  was  not  pretty  at  all. 

“I’ve  been  alone,”  replied  Duane.  “Haven’t  seen 
anybody  but  a sick-looking  girl  with  a bucket.  And 
she  ran  when  she  saw  me.” 

“That  was  Jen,”  said  Mrs.  Bland.  “She’s  the 
kid  we  keep  here,  and  she  sure  hardly  pays  her  keep. 
Did  Euchre  tell  you  about  her?” 

“Now  that  I think  of  it,  he  did  say  something  or 
other.” 

“What  did  he  tell  you  about  me?”  bluntly  asked 
Mrs.  Bland. 

“Wal,  Kate,”  replied  Euchre,  speaking  for  him- 
self, “you  needn’t  worry  none,  for  I told  Buck 
nothin’  but  compliments.” 

Evidently  the  outlaw’s  wife  liked  Euchre,  for  her 
keen  glance  rested  with  amusement  upon  him. 

“As  for  Jen,  I’ll  tell  you  her  story  some  day,” 
went  on  the  woman.  “It’s  a common  enough  story 
along  this  river.  Euchre  here  is  a tender-hearted 
old  fool,  and  Jen  has  taken  him  in.” 

“Wal,  seein’  as  you’ve  got  me  figgered  correct,” 
replied  Euchre,  dryly,  “I’ll  go  in  an’  talk  to  Jennie, 
if  I may.” 

“Certainly.  Go  ahead.  Jen  calls  you  her  best 
friend,”  said  Mrs.  Bland,  amiably.  “You’re  always 
fetching  some  Mexican  stuff,  and  that’s  why,  I guess.” 
When  Euchre  had  shuffled  into  the  house  Mrs. 
Bland  turned  to  Duane  with  curiosity  and  interest 
in  her  gaze. 

“Bland  told  me  about  you.” 

“What  did  he  say?”  queried  Duane,  in  pretended 

alarm. 


73 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“Oh,  you  needn’t  think  he’s  done  you  dirt 
Bland’s  not  that  kind  of  a man.  He  said:  ‘Kate, 
there’s  a young  fellow  in  camp — rode  in  here  on  the 
dodge.  He’s  no  criminal,  and  he  refused  to  join 
my  band.  Wish  he  would.  Slickest  hand  with  a 
gun  I’ve  seen  for  many  a day!  I’d  like  to  see  him 
and  Chess  meet  out  there  in  the  road.’  Then  Bland 
went  on  to  tell  how  you  and  Bosomer  came  to- 
gether.” 

“What  did  you  say?”  inquired  Duane,  as  she 

paused. 

“Me?  Why,  I asked  him  what  you  looked  like,” 

she  replied,  gayly. 

“Well?”  went  on  Duane. 

“Magnificent  chap,  Bland  said.  Bigger  than  any 
man  in  the  valley.  Just  a great  blue-eyed,  sun- 
burned boy!” 

“Humph!”  exclaimed  Duane.  “I’m  sorry  he  led 
you  to  expect  somebody  worth  seeing.” 

“But  I’m  not  disappointed,”  she  returned,  arch- 
ly. “Duane,  are  you  going  to  stay  long  here  in 

camp?” 

“Yes,  till  I run  out  of  money  and  have  to  move. 

Why?” 

Mrs.  Bland’s  face  underwent  one  of  the  singular 
changes.  The  smiles  and  flushes  and  glances,  all 
that  had  been  coquettish  about  her,  had  lent  her  a 
certain  attractiveness,  almost  beauty  and  youth. 
But  with  some  powerful  emotion  she  changed  and 
instantly  became  a woman  of  discontent,  Duane 
imagined,  of  deep,  violent  nature. 

“I’ll  tell  you,  Duane,”  she  said,  earnestly,  “I’m 
sure  glad  if  you  mean  to  bide  here  awhile.  I’m  a 

74 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


miserable  woman,  Duane.  I’m  an  outlaw’s  wife, 
and  I hate  him  and  the  life  I have  to  lead.  I come 
of  a good  family  in  Brownsville.  I never  knew  Bland 
was  an  outlaw  till  long  after  he  married  me.  We 
were  separated  at  times,  and  I imagined  he  was 
away  on  business.  But  the  truth  came  out.  Bland 
•shot  my  own  cousin,  who  told  me.  My  family  cast 
me  off,  and  I had  to  flee  with  Bland.  I was  only 
eighteen  then.  I’ve  lived  here  since.  I never  see 
a decent  woman  or  man.  I never  hear  anything 
about  my  old  home  or  folks  or  friends.  I’m  buried 
here — buried  alive  with  a lot  of  thieves  and  mur- 
derers. Can  you  blame  me  for  being  glad  to  see  a 
young  fellow — a gentleman — like  the  boys  I used 
to  go  with  ? I tell  you  it  makes  me  feel  full — I want 
to  cry.  I’m  sick  for  somebody  to  talk  to.  I have 
no  children,  thank  God ! If  I had  I’d  not  stay  here. 
I’m  sick  of  this  hole.  I’m  lonely — ” 

There  appeared  to  be  no  doubt  about  the  truth 
of  all  this.  Genuine  emotion  checked,  then  halted 
the  hurried  speech.  She  broke  down  and  cried.  It 
seemed  strange  to  Duane  that  an  outlaw’s  wife — 
and  a woman  who  fitted  her  consort  and  the  wild 
nature  of  their  surroundings — should  have  weak- 
ness enough  to  weep.  Duane  believed  and  pitied 
her. 

“I’m  sorry  for  you,”  he  said. 

“Don’t  be  sorry  for  me,”  she  said.  “That  only 
makes  me  see  the — the  difference  between  you  and 
me.  And  don’t  pay  any  attention  to  what  these 
outlaws  say  about  me.  They’re  ignorant.  They 
couldn’t  understand  me.  You’ll  hear  that  Bland 
killed  men  who  ran  after  me.  But  that’s  a he. 

6 75 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Bland,  like  all  the  other  outlaws  along  this  river, 
is  always  looking  for  somebody  to  kill.  He  swears 
not,  but  I don’t  believe  him.  He  explains  that  gun- 
play gravitates  to  men  who  are  the  real  thing — 
that  it  is  provoked  by  the  four-flushes,  the  bad  men. 
I don’t  know.  All  I know  is  that  somebody  is  being 
killed  every  other  day.  He  hated  Spence  before 
Spence  ever  saw  me.” 

“Would  Bland  object  if  I called  on  you  occa- 
sionally?” inquired  Duane. 

“No,  he  wouldn’t.  He  likes  me  to  have  friends. 
Ask  him  yourself  when  he  comes  back.  The  trouble 
has  been  that  two  or  three  of  his  men  fell  in  love 
with  me,  and  when  half  drunk  got  to  fighting. 
You’re  not  going  to  do  that.” 

“I’m  not  going  to  get  half  drunk,  that’s  certain,” 
replied  Duane. 

He  was  surprised  to  see  her  eyes  dilate,  then  glow 
with  fire.  Before  she  could  reply  Euchre  returned 
to  the  porch,  and  that  put  an  end  to  the  conversation. 

Duane  was  content  to  let  the  matter  rest  there, 
and  had  little  more  to  say.  Euchre  and  Mrs.  Bland 
talked  and  joked,  while  Duane  listened.  Tie  tried 
to  form  some  estimate  of  her  character.  Mani- 
festly she  had  suffered  a wrong,  if  not  worse,  at 
Bland’s  hands.  She  was  bitter,  morbid,  over- 
emotional.  If  she  was  a liar,  which  seemed  likely 
enough,  she  was  a frank  one,  and  believed  herself. 
She  had  no  cunning.  The  thing  which  struck  Duane 
so  forcibly  was  that  she  thirsted  for  respect.  In 
that,  better  than  in  her  weakness  of  vanity,  he 
thought  he  had  discovered  a trait  through  which  he 
could  manage  her. 

76 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Once,  while  he  was  revolving  these  thoughts,  he 
happened  to  glance  into  the  house,  and  deep  in  the 
shadow  of  a comer  he  caught  a pale  gleam  of  Jen- 
nie’s face  with  great,  staring  eyes  on  him.  She  had 
been  watching  him,  listening  to  what  he  said.  He 
saw  from  her  expression  that  she  had  realized  what 
had  been  so  hard  for  her  to  believe.  Watching  his 
chance,  he  flashed  a look  at  her;  and  then  it  seemed, 
to  him  the  change  in  her  face  was  wonderful. 

Later,  after  he  had  left  Mrs.  Bland  with  a mean 
ing  “Adios — manana,”  and  was  walking  along  be- 
side the  old  outlaw,  he  found  himself  thinking  of 
the  girl  instead  of  the  woman,  and  of  how  he  had 
seen  her  face  blaze  with  hope  and  gratitude. 


CHAPTER  VII 


THAT  night  Duane  was  not  troubled  by  ghosts 
haunting  his  waking  and  sleeping  hours.  He 
awoke  feeling  bright  and  eager,  and  grateful  to 
Euchre  for  having  put  something  worth  while  into 
his  mind.  During  breakfast,  however,  he  was  un- 
usually thoughtful,  working  over  the  idea  of  how 
much  or  how  little  he  would  confide  in  the  outlaw. 
He  was  aware  of  Euchre’s  scrutiny. 

“Wal,”  began  the  old  man,  at  last,  “how’d  you 
make  out  with  the  kid?” 

“Kid?”  inquired  Duane,  tentatively. 

“Jennie,  I mean.  What  ’d  you  an’  she  talk 
about?” 

“We  had  a little  chat.  You  know  you  wanted 
me  to  cheer  her  up.” 

Euchre  sat  with  coffee-cup  poised  and  narrow 
eyes  studying  Duane. 

“Reckon  you  cheered  her,  all  right;  What  I’m 
af eared  of  is  mebbe  you  done  the  job  too  well.” 
“How  so?” 

“Wal,  when  I went  in  to  Jen  last  night  I thought 
she  was  half  crazy.  She  was  burstin’  with  excite- 
ment, an’  the  look  in  her  eyes  hurt  me.  She  wouldn’t 
tell  me  a darn  word  you  said.  But  she  hung  onto 
my  hands,  an’  showed  every  way  without  speakin’ 
how  she  wanted  to  thank  me  fer  bringin’  you  over. 

78 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Buck,  it  was  plain  to  me  thet  you’d  either  gone  the 
limit  or  else  you’d  been  kinder  prodigal  of  cheer  an’ 
hope.  I’d  hate  to  think  you’d  led  Jennie  to  hope 
more’n  ever  would  come  true.” 

Euchre  paused,  and,  as  there  seemed  no  reply 
forthcoming,  he  went  on: 

‘■'Buck,  I’ve  seen  some  outlaws  whose  word  was 
good.  Mine  is.  You  can  trust  me.  I trusted  you, 
didn’t  I,  takin’  you  over  there  an’  puttin’  you  wise 
to  my  tryin’  to  help  thet  poor  kid?” 

Thus  enjoined  by  Euchre,  Duane  began  to  tell 
the  conversations  with  Jennie  and  Mrs.  Bland  word 
for  word.  Long  before  he  had  reached  an  end 
Euchre  set  down  the  coffee-cup  and  began  to  stare, 
and  at  the  conclusion  of  the  story  his  face  lost  some 
of  its  red  color  and  beads  of  sweat  stood  out  thickly 
on  his  brow. 

“Wal,  if  thet  doesn’t  floor  me!”  he  ejaculated, 
blinking  at  Duane.  “Young  man,  I figgered  you 
was  some  swift,  an’  sure  to  make  your  mark  on  this 
river;  but  I reckon  I missed  your  real  caliber.  So 
thet’s  what  it  means  to  be  a man!  I guess  I’d  for- 
got. Wal,  I’m  old,  an’  even  if  my  heart  was  in  the 
right  place  I never  was  built  fer  big  stunts.  Do  you 
know  what  it  ’ll  take  to  do  all  you  promised  Jen?” 
“I  haven’t  any  idea,”  replied  Duane,  gravely. 
“You’ll  have  to  pull  the  wool  over  Kate  Bland’s 
eyes,  an’  even  if  she  falls  in  love  with  you,  which ’s 
shore  likely,  thet  won’t  be  easy.  An’  she’d  kill  you 
in  a minnit,  Buck,  if  she  ever  got  wise.  You  ain’t 
mistaken  her  none,  are  you?” 

“Not  me,  Euchre.  She’s  a woman.  I’d  fear  her 
more  than  any  man.” 


79 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

“Wal,  you’ll  have  to  kill  Bland  an’  Chess  Alio- 
way  an’  Rugg,  an’  inebbe  some  others,  before  you 
can  ride  off  into  the  hills  with  thet  girl.” 

“Why?  Can’t  we  plan  to  be  nice  to  Mrs.  Bland 
and  then  at  an  opportune  time  sneak  off  without 
any  gun-play?” 

“Don’t  see  how  on  earth,”  returned  Euchre, 
earnestly.  “When  Bland’s  away  he  leaves  all  kinds 
of  spies  an’  scouts  watchin’  the  valley  trails.  They’ve 
all  got  rifles.  You  couldn’t  git  by  them.  But  when 
the  boss  is  home  there’s  a difference.  Only,  of  course, 
him  an’  Chess  keep  their  eyes  peeled.  They  both 
stay  to  home  pretty  much,  except  when  they’re 
playin’  monte  or  poker  over  at  Benson’s.  So  I say 
the  best  bet  is  to  pick  out  a good  time  in  the  after- 
noon, drift  over  careless-like  with  a couple  of  hosscs, 
choke  Mrs.  Bland  or  knock  her  on  the  head,  take 
Jennie  with  you,  an’  make  a rush  to  gif  out  of  the 
valley.  If  you  had  luck  you  might  pull  thet  stunt 
without  throwin’  a gun.  But  I reckon  the  best 
figgerin’  would  include  dodgin’  some  lead  an’  leavin’ 
at  least  Bland  or  Alloway  dead  behind  you.  I’m 
figgerin’,  of  course,  thet  when  they  come  home  an’ 
find  out  you’re  visitin’  Kate  frequent  they’ll  jest 
naturally  look  fer  results.  Chess  don’t  like  you,  fer 
no  reason  except  you’re  swift  on  the  draw — mebbe 
swifter  ’n  him.  Thet’s  the  hell  of  this  gun-play 
business.  No  one  can  ever  tell  who’s  the  swifter  of 
two  gunmen  till  they  meet.  Thet  fact  holds  a 
fascination  mebbe  you’ll  learn  some  day.  Bland 
would  treat  you  civil  onless  there  was  reason  not 
to,  an’  then  I don’t  believe  he’d  invite  himself  to 
a meetin’  wdtli  you.  He’d  set  Chess  or  Rugg  to 

So 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


put  you  out  of  the  way.  Still  Bland’s  no  coward, 
an’  if  you  came  across  him  at  a bad  moment  you’d 
have  to  be  quicker  ’n  you  was  with  Bosomer.” 

“All  right.  I’ll  meet  what  comes,”  said  Duane, 
quietly.  “The  great  point  is  to  have  horses  ready 
and  pick  the  right  moment,  then  rush  the  trick 
through.” 

“Thet’s  the  only  chance  fer  success.  An’  you 
can’t  do  it  alone.” 

“I’ll  have  to.  I wouldn't  ask  you  to  help  me. 
Leave  you  behind!” 

“Wal,  I’ll  take  my  chances,”  replied  Euchre, 
gruffly.  “I’m  goin’  to  help  Jennie,  you  can  gamble 
your  last  peso  on  thet.  There’s  only  four  men  in 
this  camp  who  would  shoot  me  — Bland,  an’  his 
right-hand  pards.  an’  thet  rabbit-faced  Benson.  If 
you  happened  to  put  out  Bland  and  Chess,  I’d  stand 
a good  show  with  the  other  two.  Anyway,  I’m  old 
an’  tired — what’s  the  difference  if  I do  git  plugged? 
I can  risk  as  much  as  you,  Buck,  even  if  I am 
afraid  of  gun  - play.  You  said  correct,  ‘ Hosses 
ready,  the  right  minnit,  then  rush  the  trick.’  Thet 
much  ’s  settled.  Now  let’s  figger  all  the  little 
details.” 

They  talked  and  planned,  though  in  truth  it  was 
Euchre  who  planned,  Duane  who  listened  and  agreed. 
While  awaiting  the  return  of  Bland  and  his  lieu- 
tenants it  would  be  well  for  Duane  to  grow  friendly 
with  the  other  outlaws,  to  sit  in  a few  games  of 
monte,  or  show  a willingness  to  spend  a little  money. 
The  two  schemers  were  to  call  upon  Mrs.  Bland 
every  day — Euchre  to  carry  messages  of  cheer  and 
warning  to  Jennie,  Duane  to  blind  the  elder  woman 

81 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


it  any  cost.  These  preliminaries  decided  upon,  they 
proceeded  to  put  them  into  action. 

No  hard  task  was  it  to  win  the  friendship  of  the 
most  of  those  good-natured  outlaws.  They  were 
used  to  men  of  a better  order  than  theirs  coming  to 
the  hidden  camps  and  sooner  or  later  sinking  to 
their  lower  level.  Besides,  with  them  everything 
was  easy  come,  easy  go.  That  was  why  life  itself 
went  on  so  carelessly  and  usually  ended  so  cheaply. 
There  were  men  among  them,  however,  that  made 
Duane  feel  that  terrible  inexplicable  wrath  rise  in 
his  breast.  He  could  not  bear  to  be  near  them. 
He  could  not  trust  himself.  He  felt  that  any  in- 
stant a word,  a deed,  something  might  call  too 
deeply  to  that  instinct  he  could  no  longer  control. 
Jackrabbit  Benson  was  one  of  these  men.  Because 
of  him  and  other  outlaws  of  his  ilk  Duane  could 
scarcely  ever  forget  the  reality  of  things.  This  was 
a hidden  valley,-  a robbers’  den,  a rendezvous  for 
murderers,  a wild  place  stained  red  by  deeds  of 
wild  men.  And  because  of  that  there  was  always 
a charged  atmosphere.  The  merriest,  idlest,  most 
careless  moment  might  in  the  flash  of  an  eye  end 
in  ruthless  and  tragic  action.  In  an  assemblage  of 
desperate  characters  it  could  not  be  otherwise.  The 
terrible  thing  that  Duane  sensed  was  this.  The 
valley  was  beautiful,  sunny,  fragrant,  a place  to 
dream  in;  the  mountain-tops  were  always  blue  or 
gold  rimmed,  the  yellow  river  slid  slowly  and  ma- 
jestically by,  the  birds  sang  in  the  cottonwoods,  the 
horses  grazed  and  pranced,  children  played  and 
women  longed  for  love,  freedom,  happiness;  the 

82 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


outlaws  rode  in  and  out,  free  with  money  antf 
speech;  they  lived  comfortably  in  their  adobe 
homes,  smoked,  gambled,  talked,  laughed,  whiled 
away  the  idle  hours — and  all  the  time  life  there  was 
wrong,  and  the  simplest  moment  might  be  precip- 
itated by  that  evil  into  the  most  awful  of  con- 
trasts. Duane  felt  rather  than  saw  a dark,  brood- 
ing shadow  over  the  valley. 

Then,  without  any  solicitation  or  encouragement 
from  Duane,  the  Bland  woman  fell  passionately  in 
love  with  him.  His  conscience  was  never  troubled 
about  the  beginning  of  that  affair.  She  launched 
herself.  It  took  no  great  perspicuity  on  his  part  to 
see  that.  And  the  thing  which  evidently  held  her 
in  check  was  the  newness,  the  strangeness,  and  for 
the  moment  the  all-satisfying  fact  of  his  respect  for 
her.  Duane  exerted  himself  to  please,  to  amuse, 
to  interest,  to  fascinate  her,  and  always  with  defer- 
ence. That  was  his  strong  point,  and  it  had  made 
his  part  easy  so  far.  He  believed  he  could  carry 
the  whole  scheme  through  without  involving  him- 
self any  deeper. 

He  v/as  playing  at  a game  of  love — playing  with 
life  and  death!  Sometimes  he  trembled,  not  that  he 
feared  Bland  or  Alloway  or  any  other  man,  but  at  the 
deeps  of  life  he  had  come  to  see  into.  He  was  car- 
ried out  of  his  old  mood.  Not  once  since  this  daring 
motive  had  stirred  him  had  he  been  haunted  by  the 
phantom  of  Bain  beside  his  bed.  Rather  had  he 
been  haunted  by  Jennie’s  sad  face,  her  wistful  smile, 
her  eyes.  He  never  was  able  to  speak  a word  to 
her.  What  little  communication  he  had  with  her 
was  through  Euchre,  who  carried  short  messages. 

83 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


But  he  caught  glimpses  of  her  every  time  he  went 
to  the  Bland  house.  She  contrived  somehow  to  pass 
door  or  window,  to  give  him  a look  when  chance 
afforded.  And  Duane  discovered  with  surprise  that 
these  moments  were  more  thrilling  to  him  than  any 
with  Mrs.  Bland.  Often  Duane  knew  Jennie  was 
sitting  just  inside  the  window,  and  then  he  felt  in- 
spired in  his  talk,  and  it  was  all  made  for  her.  So 
at  least  she  came  to  know  him  while  as  yet  she  was 
almost  a stranger.  Jennie  had  been  instructed  by 
Euchre  to  listen,  to  understand  that  this  was  Duane’s 
only  chance  to  help  keep  her  mind  from  constant 
worry,  to  gather  the  import  of  every  word  which 
had  a double  meaning. 

Euchre  said  that  the  girl  had  begun  to  wither 
under  the  strain,  to  burn  up  with  intense  hope  which 
had  flamed  within  her.  But  all  the  difference  Duane 
could  see  was  a paler  face  and  darker,  more  wonder- 
ful eyes.  The  eyes  seemed  to  be  entreating  him  to 
hurry,  that  time  was  flying,  that  soon  it  might  be 
too  late.  Then  there  was  another  meaning  in  them, 
a light,  a strange  fire  wholly  inexplicable  to  Duane. 
It  was  only  a flash  gone  in  an  instant.  But  he  re- 
membered it  because  he  had  never  seen  it  in  any 
other  woman’s  eyes.  And  all  through  those  waiting 
days  he  knew  that  Jennie’s  face,  and  especially  the 
warm,  fleeting  glance  she  gave  him,  was  responsible 
for  a subtle  and  gradual  change  in  him.  This 
change,  he  fancied,  was  only  that  through  remem- 
brance of  her  he  got  rid  of  his  pale,  sickening  ghosts. 

One  day  a careless  Mexican  threw  a lighted 
cigarette  up  into  the  brush  matting  that  served  as 
a ceiling  for  Benson’s  den,  and  there  was  a fire 

84 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


which  left  little  more  than  the  adobe  walls  standing. 
The  result  was  that  while  repairs  were  being  made 
there  was  no  gambling  and  drinking.  Time  hung 
very  heavily  on  the  hands  of  some  twoscore  out- 
laws. Days  passed  by  without  a brawl,  and  Bland’s 
valley  saw  more  successive  hours  of  peace  than  ever 
before.  Duane,  however,  found  the  hours  anything 
but  empty.  He  spent  more  time  at  Mrs.  Bland’s; 
he  walked  miles  on  all  the  trails  leading  out  of  the 
valley;  he  had  a care  for  the  condition  of  his  two 
horses. 

Upon  his  return  from  the  latest  of  these  tramps 
Euchre  suggested  that  they  go  down  to  the  river 
to  the  boat-landing. 

“Ferry  couldn’t  run  ashore  this  mornin’,”  said 
Euchre.  “River  gettin’  low  an’  sand-bars  makin’ 
it  hard  fer  bosses.  There’s  a greaser  freight-wagon 
stuck  in  the  mud.  I reckon  we  might  hear  news 
from  the  freighters.  Bland’s  supposed  to  be  in 
Mexico.” 

Nearly  all  the  outlaws  in  camp  were  assembled 
on  the  river-bank,  lolling  in  the  shade  of  the  cotton- 
woods. The  heat  was  oppressive.  Not  an  outlaw 
offered  to  help  the  freighters,  who  were  trying  to 
dig  a heavily  freighted  wagon  out  of  the  quick- 
sand. Few  outlaws  would  work  for  themselves, 
!et  alone  for  the  despised  Mexicans. 

Duane  and  Euchre  joined  the  lazy  group  and  sat 
down  with  them.  Euchre  lighted  a black  pipe,  and, 
drawing  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  lay  back  in  comfort 
after  the  manner  of  the  majority  of  the  outlaws. 
But  Duane  was  alert,  observing,  thoughtful.  He 
never  missed  anything.  It  was  his  belief  that  any 

Ss 


THE  EONE  STAR  RANGER 

moment  an  idle  word  might  be  of  benefit  to  him. 
Moreover,  these  rough  men  were  always  interesting. 

“Bland’s  been  chased  acrost  the  river,”  said  one. 

“Naw,  he’s  deliverin’  cattle  to  thet  Cuban  ship,” 
replied  another. 

“Big  deal  on,  hey?” 

“Some  big.  Rugg  says  the  boss  hed  an  order  fer 
fifteen  thousand.” 

“Say,  that  order  ’ll  take  a year  to  fill.” 

“Naw.  Hardin  is  in  cahoots  with  Bland.  Be- 
tween ’em  they’ll  fill  orders  bigger  ’n  thet.” 

“Wondered  what  Hardin  was  rustlin’  in  here  fer.” 

Duane  could  not  possibly  attend  to  all  the  con- 
versation among  the  outlaws.  He  endeavored  to 
get  the  drift  of  talk  nearest  to  him. 

“Kid  Fuller’s  goin’  to  cash,”  said  a sandy- whisk- 
ered little  outlaw. 

“So  Jim  was  tellin’  me.  Blood-poison,  ain’t  it? 
Thet  hole  wasn’t  bad.  But  he  took  the  fever,” 
rejoined  a comrade. 

“Deger  says  the  Kid  might  pull  through  if  he  hed 
nursin’.” 

“Wal,  Kate  Bland  ain’t  nursin’  any  shot-up  boys 
these  days.  She  hasn’t  got  time.” 

A laugh  followed  this  sally;  then  came  a pene- 
trating silence.  Some  of  the  outlaws  glanced  good- 
naturedly  at  Duane.  They  bore  him  no  ill  will.  !&an- 
ifestly  they  were  aware  of  Mrs.  Bland’s  infatuation. 

“Pete,  ’pears  to  me  you’ve  said  thet  before.” 

“Shore.  Wal,  it’s  happened  before.” 

This  remark  drew  louder  laughter  and  more  sig- 
nificant glances  at  Duane.  He  did  not  choose  to 
ignore  them  any  longer. 

86 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“Boys,  poke  all  the  fun  you  like  at  me,  but  don’t 
mention  any  lady’s  name  again.  My  hand  is  nervous 
and  itchy  these  days.” 

He  smiled  as  he  spoke,  and  his  speech  was  drawled ; 
but  the  good  humor  in  no  wise  weakened  it.  Then 
his  latter  remark  was  significant  to  a class  of  men 
who  from  inclination  and  necessity  practised  at 
gun-drawing  until  they  wore  callous  and  sore  places 
on  their  thumbs  and  inculcated  in  the  very  deeps 
of  their  nervous  organization  a habit  that  made 
even  the  simplest  and  most  innocent  motion  of  the 
hand  end  at  or  near  the  hip.  There  was  something 
remarkable  about  a gun-fighter’s  hand.  It  never 
seemed  to  be  gloved,  never  to  be  injured,  never  out 
of  sight  or  in  an  awkward  position. 

There  were  grizzled  outlaws  in  that  group,  some 
of  whom  had  many  notches  on  their  gun-handles, 
and  they,  with  their  comrades,  accorded  Duane 
silence  that  carried  conviction  of  the  regard  in 
which  he  was  held. 

Duane  could  not  recall  any  other  instance  where 
he  had  let  fall  a familiar  speech  to  these  men,  and 
certainly  he  hadnever  before  hinted  of  his  possibilities. 
He  saw  instantly  that  he  could  not  have  done  better. 

“Orful  hot,  ain’t  it?”  remarked  Bill  Black,  pres- 
ently. Bill  could  not  keep  quiet  for  long.  He  was 
a typical  Texas  desperado,  had  never  been  anything 
else.  He  was  stoop-shouldered  and  bow-legged  from 
much  riding;  a wiry  little  man,  all  muscle,  with  a 
square  head,  a hard  face  partly  black  from  scrubby 
beard,  and  red  from  sun,  and  a bright,  roving,  cruel 
eye.  His  shirt  was  open  at  the  neck,  showing  a 
grizzled  breast. 


87 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


‘ ‘ Is  there  any  guy  in  this  heah  outfit  sport  enough 
to  go  swimmin’?”  he  asked. 

“My  Gawd,  Bill,  you  ain’t  agoin’  to  wash!”  ex- 
claimed a comrade. 

This  raised  a laugh  in  which  Black  joined.  But 
no  one  seemed  eager  to  join  him  in  a bath. 

“Laziest  outfit  I ever  rustled  with,”  went  on  Bill, 
discontentedly.  “Nuthin’  to  do!  Say,  if  nobody 
wants  to  swim  maybe  some  of  you’ll  gamble?” 

He  produced  a dirty  pack  of  cards  and  waved 
them  at  the  motionless  crowd. 

“Bill,  you’re  too  good  at  cards,”  replied  a lanky 
outlaw. 

“Now,  Jasper,  you  say  thet  powerful  sweet,  an’ 
you  look  sweet,  er  I might  take  it  to  heart,”  replied 
Black,  with  a sudden  change  of  tone. 

Here  it  was  again — that  upflashing  passion.  What 
Jasper  saw  fit  to  reply  would  mollify  the  outlaw  or 
it  would  not.  There  was  an  even  balance. 

“No  offense,  Bill,”  said  Jasper,  placidly,  without 
moving. 

Bill  grunted  and  forgot  Jasper.  But  he  seemed 
restless  and  dissatisfied.  Duane  knew  him  to  be 
an  inveterate  gambler.  And  as  Benson’s  place  was 
out  of  running-order,  Black  was  like  a fish  on  dry 
land. 

“Wal,  if  you-all  are  afraid  of  the  cairds,  what  will 
you  bet  on?”  he  asked,  in  disgust. 

“Bill,  I’ll  play  you  a game  of  mumbly  peg  fer  two 
bits,”  replied  one. 

Black  eagerly  accepted.  Betting  to  him  was  a 
serious  matter.  The  game  obsessed  him,  not  the 
stakes.  He  entered  into  the"  mumbly-peg  contest 

88 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


with  a thoughtful  mien  and  a corded  brow.  He 
won.  Other  comrades  tried  their  luck  with  him 
and  lost.  Finally,  when  Bill  had  exhausted  their 
supply  of  two-bit  pieces  or  their  desire  for  that 
particular  game,  he  offered  to  bet  on  anything. 

“See  thet  turtle-dove  there?”  he  said,  pointing. 
“I’ll  bet  he’ll  scare  at  one  stone  or  he  won’t.  Five 
pesos  he’ll  fly  or  he  won’t  fly  when  some  one  chucks 
a stone.  Who’ll  take  me  up?” 

That  appeared  to  be  more  than  the  gambling  spirit 
of  several  outlaws  could  withstand. 

“Take  thet.  Easy  money,”  said  one. 

“Who's  goin’  to  chuck  the  stone?”  asked  another. 

“Anybody,”  replied  Bill. 

“Wal,  I’ll  bet  you  I can  scare  him  with  one  stone,” 
said  the  first  outlaw. 

“We’re  in  on  thet,  Jim  to  fire  the  darnick,” 
chimed  in  the  others. 

The  money  was  put  up,  the  stone  thrown.  The 
turtle-dove  took  flight,  to  the  great  joy  of  all  the 
outlaws  except  Bill. 

“I’ll  bet  you-all  he’ll  come  back  to  thet  tree  in- 
side of  five  minnits,”  he  offered,  imperturbably. 

Hereupon  the  outlaws  did  not  show  any  laziness 
in  their  alacrity  to  cover  Bill’s  money  as  it  lay  on 
the  grass.  Somebody  had  a watch,  and  they  all  sat 
down,  dividing  attention  between  the  timepiece  and 
the  tree.  The  minutes  dragged  by  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  various  jocular  remarks  anent  a fool 
and  his  money.  When  four  and  three-quarter  min- 
utes had  passed  a turtle-dove  alighted  in  the  cotton- 
wood. Then  ensued  an  impressive  silence  while  Bill 
calmly  pocketed  the  fifty  dollars. 

89 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“But  it  hain’t  the  same  dove!”  exclaimed  one  out- 
law, excitedly.  “This  ’n’  is  smaller,  dustier,  not  so 
purple.” 

Bill  eyed  the  speaker  loftily. 

“Wal,  you’ll  have  to  ketch  the  other  one  to  prove 
thet.  Sabe,  pard?  Now  I’ll  bet  any  gent  heah  the 
fifty  I won  thet  I can  scare  thet  dove  with  one  stone.” 

No  one  offered  to  take  his  wager. 

“Wal,  then,  I’ll  bet  any  of  you  even  money  thet 
you  can't  scare  him  with  one  stone.” 

Not  proof  against  this  chance,  the  outlaws  made 
up  a purse,  in  no  wise  disconcerted  by  Bill’s  con- 
temptuous allusions  to  their  banding  together.  The 
stone  was  thrown.  The  dove  did  not  fly.  There- 
after, in  regard  to  that  bird,  Bill  was  unable  to  coax 
or  scorn  his  comrades  into  any  kind  of  wager. 

He  tried  them  with  a multiplicity  of  offers,  and 
in  vain.  Then  he  appeared  at  a loss  for  some  un- 
usual and  seductive  wager.  Presently  a little  ragged 
Mexican  boy  came  along  the  river  trail,  a particu- 
larly starved  and  poor-looking  little  fellow.  Bill 
called  to  him  and  gave  him  a handful  of  silver  coins. 
Speechless,  dazed,  he  went  his  way  hugging  the 
money. 

“I’ll  bet  he  drops  some  before  he  gits  to  the  road,” 
declared  Bill.  “I’ll  bet  he  runs.  Hurry,  you  four- 
flush  gamblers.” 

Bill  failed  to  interest  any  of  his  companions,  and 
forthwith  became  sullen  and  silent.  Strangely  his 
good  humor  departed  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he 
had  won  considerable. 

Duane,  watching  the  disgruntled  outlaw,  mar- 
veled at  him  and  wondered  what  was  in  his  mind. 


oo 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


These  men  were  more  variable  than  children,  as 
unstable  as  water,  as  dangerous  as  dynamite. 

“Bill,  I’ll  bet  you  ten  you  can’t  spill  whatever’s 
in  the  bucket  thet  peon’s  packin’,”  said  the  outlaw 
called  Jim. 

Black’s  head  came  up  with  the  action  of  a hawk 
about  to  swoop. 

Duane  glanced  from  Black  to  the  road,  where  he 
saw  a crippled  peon  carrying  a tin  bucket  toward 
the  river.  This  peon  Vas  a half-witted  Indian  who 
lived  in  a shack  and  did  odd  jobs  for  the  Mexicans. 
Duane  had  met  him  often. 

“Jim,  I’ll  take  you  up,”  replied  Black. 

Something,  perhaps  a harshness  in  his  voice,  caused 
Duane  to  whirl.  He  caught  a leaping  gleam  in  the 
outlaw’s  eye. 

“Aw,  Bill,  thet’s  too  fur  a shot,”  said  Jasper,  as 
Black  rested  an  elbow  on  his  knee  and  sighted  over 
the  long,  heavy  Colt.  The  distance  to  the  peon  was 
about  fifty  paces,  too  far  for  even  the  most  expert 
shot  to  hit  a moving  object  so  small  as  a bucket. 

Duane,  marvelously  keen  in  the  alignment  of 
sights,  was  positive  that  Black  held  too  high.  An- 
other look  at  the  hard  face,  now  tense  and  dark  with 
blood,  confirmed  Duane’s  suspicion  that  the  outlaw 
was  not  aiming  at  the  bucket  at  all.  Duane  leaped 
and  struck  the  leveled  gun  out  of  his  hand.  Another 
outlaw  picked  it  up. 

Black  fell  back  astounded.  Deprived  of  his  weap- 
on, he  did  not  seem  the  same  man,  or  else  he  was 
cowed  by  Duane’s  significant  and  formidable  front. 
Sullenly  he  turned  away  without  even  asking  for 
his  gun. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


WHAT  a contrast,  Duane  thought,  the  evening 
of  that  day  presented  to  the  state  of  his  soul ! 
The  sunset  lingered  in  golden  glory  over  the  dis- 
tant Mexican  mountains;  twilight  came  slowly;  a 
faint  breeze  blew  from  the  river  cool  and  sweet; 
the  late  cooing  of  a dove  and  the  tinkle  of  a cow- 
bell were  the  only  sounds;  a serene  and  tranquil 
peace  lay  over  the  valley. 

Inside  Duane’s  body  there  was  strife.  This  third 
facing  of  a desperate  man  had  thrown  him  off  his 
balance.  It  had  not  been  fatal,  but  it  threatened 
so  much.  The  better  side  of  his  nature  seemed  to 
urge  him  to  die  rather  than  to  go  on  fighting  or  op- 
posing ignorant,  unfortunate,  savage  men.  But  the 
perversity  of  him  was  so  great  that  it  dwarfed  rea- 
son, conscience.  He  could  not  resist  it.  He  felt 
something  dying  in  him.  He  suffered.  Hope  seemed 
far  away.  Despair  had  seized  upon  him  and  was 
driving  him  into  a reckless  mood  when  he  thought  of 
Jennie. 

He  had  forgotten  her.  He  had  forgotten  that  he 
had  promised  to  save  her.  He  had  forgotten  that 
he  meant  to  snuff  out  as  many  lives  as  might  stand 
between  her  and  freedom.  The  very  remembrance 
sheered  off  his  morbid  introspection.  She  made  a 
difference.  How  strange  for  him  to  realize  that! 

92 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


He  felt  grateful  to  her.  He  had  been  forced  into 
outlawry;  she  had  been  stolen  from  her  people  and 
carried  in^o  captivity.  They  had  met  in  the  river 
fastness,  he  to  instil  hope  into  her  despairing  life, 
she  to  be  the  means,  perhaps,  of  keeping  him  from 
sinking  to  the  level  of  her  captors.  He  became 
conscious  of  a strong  and  beating  desire  to  see  her, 
talk  with  her. 

These  thoughts  had  run  through  his  mind  while 
on  his  way  to  Mrs.  Bland’s  house.  He  had  let 
Euchre  go  on  ahead  because  he  wanted  more  time 
to  compose  himself.  Darkness  had  about  set  in 
when  he  reached  his  destination.  There  was  no 
light  in  the  house.  Mrs.  Bland  was  waiting  for 
him  on  the  porch. 

She  embraced  him,  and  the  sudden,  violent,  un- 
familiar contact  sent  such  a shock  through  him  that 
he  all  but  forgot  the  deep  game  he  was  playing. 
She,  however,  in  her  agitation  did  not  notice  his 
shrinking.  From  her  embrace  and  the  tender, 
incoherent  words  that  flowed  with  it  he  gathered 
that  Euchre  had  acquainted  her  of  his  action  with 
Black. 

“He  might  have  killed  you!”  she  whispered,  more 
dearly;  and  if  Duane  had  ever  heard  love  in  a voice 
he  heard  it  then.  It  softened  him.  After  all,  she 
was  a woman,  weak,  fated  through  her  nature,  un- 
fortunate in  her  experience  of  life,  doomed  to  un- 
happiness and  tragedy.  He  met  her  advance  so 
far  that  he  returned  the  embrace  and  kissed  her. 
Emotion  such  as  she  showed  would  have  made  any 
woman  sweet,  and  she  had  a certain  charm.  It  was 
easy,  even  pleasant,  to  kiss  her;  but  Duane  resolved 

93 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


that,  whatever  her  abandonment  might  become,  he 
would  not  go  further  than  the  lie  she  made  him  act. 

“Buck,  you  love  me?”  she  whispered. 

“Yes — yes,”  he  burst  out,  eager  to  get  it  over, 
and  even  as  he  spoke  he  caught  the  pale  gleam  of 
Jennie’s  face  through  the  window.  He  felt  a shame 
he  was  glad  she  could  not  see.  Did  she  remember 
that  she  had  promised  not  to  misunderstand  any 
action  of  his?  What  did  she  think  of  him,  seeing 
him  out  there  in  the  dusk  with  this  bold  woman  in 
his  arms?  Somehow  that  dim  sight  of  Jennie’s 
pale  face,  the  big  dark  eyes,  thrilled  him,  inspired 
him  to  his  hard  task  of  the  present. 

“Listen,  dear,”  he  said  to  the  woman,  and  he 
meant  his  words  for  the  girl.  “I’m  going  to  take 
you  away  from  this  outlaw  den  if  I have  to  kill 
Bland,  Alloway,  Rugg— anybody  who  stands  in  my 
path.  You  were  dragged  here.  You  are  good — I 
know  it.  There’s  happiness  for  you  somewhere — a 
home  among  good  people  who  will  care  for  you. 
Just  wait  till — ” 

His  voice  trailed  off  and  failed  from  excess  of 
emotion.  Kate  Bland  closed  her  eyes  and  leaned 
her  head  on  his  breast.  Duane  felt  her  heart  beat 
against  his,  and  conscience  smote  him  a keen  blow. 
If  she  loved  him  so  much ! But  memory  and  under- 
standing of  her  character  hardened  him  again,  and 
he  gave  her  such  commiseration  as  was  due  her  sex, 
and  no  more. 

“Boy,  that’s  good  of  you,”  she  whispered,  “but 
it’s  too  late.  I’m  done  for.  I can’t  leave  Bland. 
All  I ask  is  that  you  love  me  a little  and  stop  your 
gun-throwing.” 

OA 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


The  moon  had  risen  over  the  eastern  bulge  of 
dark  mountain,  and  now  the  valley  was  flooded  with 
mellow  light,  and  shadows  of  cottonwoods  wavered 
against  the  silver. 

Suddenly  the  clip-clop,  clip-clop  of  hoofs  caused 
Duane  to  raise  his  head  and  listen.  Horses  were 
coming  down  the  road  from  the  head  of  the  valley. 
The  hour  was  unusual  for  riders  to  come  in.  Pres- 
ently the  narrow,  moonlit  lane  was  crossed  at  its 
far  end  by  black  moving  objects.  Two  horses  Duane 
discerned. 

“It’s  Bland!”  whispered  the  woman,  grasping 
Duane  with  shaking  hands.  “You  must  run!  No, 
he’d  see  you.  That  ’d  be  worse.  It’s  Bland!  I 
know  his  horse’s  trot.” 

“But  you  said  he  wouldn’t  mind  my  calling  here,” 
protested  Duane.  “Euchre’s  with  me.  It  ’ll  be  all 
right.” 

“Maybe  so,”  she  replied,  with  visible  effort  at 
self-control.  Manifestly  she  had  a great  fear  of 
Bland.  “If  I could  only  think!” 

Then  she  dragged  Duane  to  the  door,  pushed 
him  in. 

“Euchre,  come  out  with  me!  Duane,  you  stay 
with  the  girl!  I’ll  tell  Bland  you’re  in  love  with 
her.  Jen,  if  you  give  us  away  I’ll  wring  your  neck.” 

The  swift  action  and  fierce  whisper  told  Duane 
that  Mrs.  Bland  was  herself  again.  Duane  stepped 
close  to  Jennie,  who  stood  near  the  window.  Neither 
spoke,  but  her  hands  were  outstretched  to  meet  his 
own.  They  were  small,  trembling  hands,  cold  as 
ice.  He  held  them  close,  trying  to  convey  what 
he  felt — that  he  would  protect  her.  She  leaned 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

against  him,  and  they  looked  out  of  the  window. 
Duane  felt  calm  and  sure  of  himself.  His  most 
pronounced  feeling  besides  that  for  the  frightened 
girl  was  a curiosity  as  to  how  Mrs.  Bland  would 
rise  to  the  occasion.  He  saw  the  riders  dismount 
down  the  lane  and  wearily  come  forward.  A boy 
led  away  the  horses.  Euchre,  the  old  fox,  was 
talking  loud  and  with  remarkable  ease,  considering 
what  he  claimed  was  his  natural  cowardice. 

“ — that  was  way  back  in  the  sixties,  about  the 
time  of  the  war,”  he  was  saying.  “Rustlin’  cattle 
wasn’t  nuthin’  then  to  what  it  is  now.  An’  times  is 
rougher  these  days.  This  gun-throwin’  has  come 
to  be  a disease.  Men  have  an  itch  for  the  draw 
same  as  they  used  to  have  fer  poker.  The  only  real 
gambler  outside  of  greasers  we  ever  had  here  was 
Bill,  an’  I presume  Bill  is  burnin’  now.” 

The  approaching  outlaws,  hearing  voices,  halted 
a rod  or  so  from  the  porch.  Then  Mrs.  Bland  ut- 
tered an  exclamation,  ostensibly  meant  to  express 
surprise,  and  hurried  out  to  meet  them.  She  greet- 
ed her  husband  warmly  and  gave  welcome  to  the 
other  man.  Duane  could  not  see  well  enough  in 
the  shadow  to  recognize  Bland’s  companion,  but 
he  believed  it  was  Alloway. 

“Dog-tired  we  are  and  starved,”  said  Bland, 
heavily.  “Who’s  here  with  you?” 

“That’s  Euchre  on  the  porch.  Duane  is  inside 
at  the  window  with  Jen,”  replied  Mrs.  Bland. 

“Duane!”  he  exclaimed.  Then  he  whispered  low 
— something  Duane  could  not  catch. 

“Why, 'I  asked  him  to  come,”  said  the  chief’s  wife. 
She  spoke  easily  and  naturally  and  made  no  change 

pr5 


the  lone  star  ranger 


in  tone.  “Jen  has  been  ailing.  She  gets  thinner 
and  whiter  every  day.  Duane  came  here  one  day 
with  Euchre,  saw  Jen,  and  we nt  loony  over  her  pretty 
face,  same  as  all  you  men.  So  I let  him  come.” 

Bland  cursed  low  and  deep  under  his  breath.  The 
other  man  made  a violent  action  of  some  kind  and 
apparently  was  quieted  by  a restraining  hand. 

“Kate,  you  let  Duane  make  love  to  Jennie?” 
queried  Bland,  incredulously. 

“Yes,  I did,”  replied  the  wife,  stubbornly.  “Why 
not?  Jen’s  in  love  with  him.  If  he  takes  her  away 
and  marries  her  she  can  be  a decent  woman.” 

Bland  kept  silent  a moment,  then  his  laugh  pealed 
out  loud  and  harsh. 

“Chess,  did  you  get  that?  Well,  by  God!  what 
do  you  think  of  my  wife?” 

“She’s  lyin’  or  she’s  crazy,”  replied  Alloway,  and 
his  voice  carried  an  unpleasant  ring. 

Mrs.  Bland  promptly  and  indignantly  told  her 
husband’s  lieutenant  to  keep  his  mouth  shut. 

“Ho,  ho,  ho!”  rolled  out  Bland’s  laugh. 

Then  he  led  the  way  to  the  porch,  his  spurs  clink- 
ing, the  weapons  he  was  carrying  rattling,  and  he 
flopped  down  on  a bench. 

“How  are  you,  boss?”  asked  Euchre. 

“Hello,  old  man.  I’m  well,  but  all  in.” 

Alloway  slowly  walked  on  to  the  porch  and  leaned 
against  the  rail.  He  answered  Euchre’s  greeting 
with  a nod.  Then  he  stood  there  a dark,  silent 
figure. 

Mrs.  Bland’s  full  voice  in  eager  questioning  had 
a tendency  to  ease  the  situation.  Bland  replied 
briefly  to  her,  reporting  a remarkably  successful  trip. 

97 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Duane  thought  it  time  to  show  himself.  He  had 
a feeling  that  Bland  and  Alloway  would  let  him  go 
for  the  moment.  They  were  plainly  non-plussed,  and 
Alloway  seemed  sullen,  brooding. 

“Jennie,”  whispered  Duane,  “that  was  clever  of 
Mrs.  Bland.  We’ll  keep  up  the  deception.  Any 
day  now  be  ready!” 

She  pressed  close  to  him,  and  a barely  audible 
“Hurry!”  came  breathing  into  his  ear. 

“Good  night,  Jennie,”  he  said,  aloud.  “Hope 
you  feel  better  to-morrow.” 

Then  he  stepped  out  into  the  moonlight  and  spoke. 
Bland  returned  the  greeting,  and,  though  he  was  not 
amiable,  he  did  not  show  resentment. 

“Met  Jasper  as  I rode  in,”  said  Bland,  presently. 
“He  told  me  you  made  Bill  Black  mad,  and  there’s 
liable  to  be  a fight.  What  did  you  go  off  the  handle 
about?” 

Duane  explained  the  incident.  “I’m  sorry  I hap- 
pened to  be  there,”  he  went  on.  “It  wasn’t  my 

business.” 

“Scurvy  trick  that  ’d  been,”  muttered  Bland. 
“You  did  right.  All  the  same,  Duane,  I want  you 
to  stop  quarreling  with  my  men.  If  you  were  one 
of  us — that ’d  be  different.  I can’t  keep  my  men 
from  fighting.  But  I’m  not  called  on  to  let  an  out- 
sider hang  around  my  camp  and  plug  my  rustlers.” 

“I  guess  I’ll  have  to  be  hitting  the  trail  for  some- 
where,” said  Duane. 

“Why  not  join  my  band?  You’ve  got  a bad  start 
already,  Duane,  and  if  I know  this  border  you’ll 
never  be  a respectable  citizen  again.  You’re  a born 
killer.  I know  every  bad  man  on  this  frontier. 

98 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


More  than  one  of  them  have  told  me  that  something 
exploded  in  their  brain,  and  when  sense  came  back 
there  lay  another  dead  man.  It’s  not  so  with  me. 
I’ve  done  a little  shooting,  too,  but  I never  wanted 
to  kill  another  man  just  to  rid  myself  of  the  last  one. 
My  dead  men  don’t  sit  on  my  chest  at  night.  That’s 
the  gun-fighter’s  trouble.  He’s  crazy.  He  has  to  kill 
a new  man — he’s  driven  to  it  to  forget  the  last  one.” 
“But  I’m  no  gun -fighter,”  protested  Duane. 
“Circumstances  made  me — ” 

“No  doubt,”  interrupted  Bland,  with  a laugh, 
“Circumstances  made  me  a rustler.  You  don’t 
know  yourself.  You’re  young;  you’ve  got  a tem- 
per; your  father  was  one  of  the  most  dangerous 
men  Texas  ever  had.  I don’t  see  any  other  career 
for  you.  Instead  of  going  it  alone — a lone  wolf, 
as  the  Texans  say — why  not  make  friends  with  other 
outlaws?  You’ll  live  longer.” 

Euchre  squirmed  in  his  seat. 

“Boss,  I’ve  been  givin’  the  boy  egzactly  thet  same 
line  of  talk.  Thet’s  why  I took  him  in  to  bunk  with 
me.  If  he"  makes  pards  among  us  there  won’t  be 
any  more  trouble.  An’  he’d  be  a grand  feller  fer 
the  gang.  I’ve  seen  Wild  Bill  Hickok  throw  a gun, 
an’  Billy  the  Kid,  an’  Hardin,  an’  Chess  here  — all 
the  fastest  men  on  the  border.  An’  with  apologies 
to  present  company,  I’m  here  to  say  Duane  has 
them  all  skinned.  His  draw  is  different.  You  can’t 
see  how  he  does  it.” 

Euchre’s  admiring  praise  served  to  create  an  effec- 
tive little  silence.  Alloway  shifted  uneasily  on  his 
feet,  his  spurs  jangling  faintly,  and  did  not  lift  his 
head.  Bland  seemed  thoughtful. 

99 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“That’s  about  the  only  qualification  I have  to 
make  me  eligible  for  your  band,”  said  Duane, 
easily. 

“It’s  good  enough, ’ ’ replied  Bland,  shortly.  ‘ ‘ Will 
you  consider  the  idea?” 

“I’ll  think  it  over.  Good  night.” 

He  left  the  group,  followed  by  Euchre.  When 
they  reached  the  end  of  the  lane,  and  before  they 
had  exchanged  a word,  Bland  called  Euchre  back. 
Duane  proceeded  slowly  along  the  moonlit  road  to 
the  cabin  and  sat  down  under  the  cottonwoods  to 
wait  for  Euchre.  The  night  was  intense  and  quiet, 
a low  hum  of  insects  giving  the  effect  of  a congestion 
of  life.  The  beauty  of  the  soaring  moon,  the  ebony 
canons  of  shadow  under  the  mountain,  the  melan- 
choly serenity  of  the  perfect  night,  made  Duane  shud- 
der in  the  realization  of  how  far  aloof  he  now  was  from 
enjoyment  of  these  things.  Never  again  so  long  as 
he  lived  could  he  be  natural.  His  mind  was  clouded. 
His  eye  and  ear  henceforth  must  register  impressions 
of  nature,  but  the  joy  of  them  had  fled. 

Still,  as  he  sat  there  with  a foreboding  of  more  and 
darker  work  ahead  of  him  there  was  yet  a strange 
sweetness  left  to  him,  and  it  lay  in  thought  of  Jen- 
nie. The  pressure  of  her  cold  little  hands  lingered 
in  his.  He  did  not  think  of  her  as  a woman,  and 
he  did  not  analyze  his  feelings.  He  just  had  vague 
dreamy  thoughts  and  imaginations  that  were  inter- 
spersed in  the  constant  and  stern  revolving  of  plans 
to  save  her. 

A shuffling  step  roused  him.  Euchre’s  dark  fig- 
ure came  crossing  the  moonlit  grass  under  the  cot- 
tonwoods. The  moment  the  outlaw  reached  him 


IOO 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Duane  saw  that  he  was  laboring  under  great  excite- 
ment. It  scarcely  affected  Duane.  He  seemed  to 
be  acquiring  patience,  calmness,  strength. 

“Bland  kept  you  pretty  long,”  he  said. 

“Wait  till  I git  my  breath,”  replied  Euchre.  He 
sat  silent  a little  while,  fanning  himself  with  a som- 
brero, though  the  night  was  cool,  and  then  he  went 
into  the  cabin  to  return  presently  with  a lighted  pipe. 

“Fine  night,”  he  said;  and  his  tone  further  ac- 
quainted Duane  with  Euchre’s  quaint  humor.  “Fine 
night  for  love-affairs,  by  gum!” 

“I’d  noticed  that,”  rejoined  Duane,  dryly. 

“Wal,  I’m  a son  of  a gun  if  I didn’t  stand  an’ 
watch  Bland  choke  his  wife  till  her  tongue  stuck 
out  an’  she  got  black  in  the  face.” 

“ No  !”  ejaculated  Duane. 

“Hope  to  die  if  I didn’t.  Buck,  listen  to  this 
here  yarn.  When  I got  back  to  the  porch  I seen 
Bland  was  wakin’  up.  He’d  been  too  fagged  out  to 
figger  much.  Alloway  an’  Kate  had  gone  in  the 
house,  where  they  lit  up  the  lamps.  I heard  Kate’s 
high  voice,  but  Alloway  never  chirped.  He’s  not 
the  talkin’  kind,  an’  he’s  damn  dangerous  when  he’s 
thet  way.  Bland  asked  me  some  questions  right 
from  the  shoulder.  I was  ready  for  them,  an’  I - 
swore  the  moon  was  green  cheese.  He  was  satis- 
fied. Bland  always  trusted  me,  an’  liked  me,  too, 

I reckon.  I hated  to  lie  black  thet  way.  But  he’s 
a hard  man  with  bad  intentions  toward  Jennie,  an’ 
I’d  double-cross  him  any  day. 

“Then  we  went  into  the  house.  Jennie  had  gone 
to  her  little  room,  an’  Bland  called  her  to  come  out. 
She  said  she  was  undressin’.  An’  he  ordered  her 


IOI 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


to  put  her  clothes  back  on.  Then,  Buck,  his  next 
move  was  some  surprisin’.  He  deliberately  throwed 
a gun  on  Kate.  Yes  sir,  he  pointed  his  big  blue  Colt 
right  at  her,  an’  he  says: 

“‘I’ve  a mind  to  blow  out  your  brains.’ 

“‘Go  ahead,’  says  Kate,  cool  as  could  be. 

“‘You  lied  to  me,’  he  roars. 

“Kate  laughed  in  his  face.  Bland  slammed  the 
gun  down  an’  made  a grab  fer  her.  She  fought  him, 
but  wasn’t  a match  fer  him,  an’  he  got  her  by  the 
throat.  He  choked  her  till  I thought  she  was 
strangled.  Alloway  made  him  stop.  She  flopped 
down  on  the  bed  an’  gasped  fer  a while.  When  she 
come  to  them  hard-shelled  cusses  went  after  her, 
trying  to  make  her  give  herself  away.  I think  Bland 
was  jealous.  He  suspected  she’d  got  thick  with 
you  an’  was  foolin’  him.  I reckon  thet’s  a sore  feel- 
in’  fer  a man  to  have — to  guess  pretty  nice,  but  not 
to  be  sure.  Bland  gave  it  up  after  a while.  An’ 
then  he  cussed  an’  raved  at  her.  One  sayin’  of  his 
is  worth  pinnin’  in  your  sombrero:  ‘It  ain’t  nuthin’ 
to  kill  a man.  I don’t  need  much  fer  thet.  But 
I want  to  know,  you  hussy!’ 

“Then  he  went  in  an’  dragged  poor  Jen  out. 
She’d  had  time  to  dress.  He  was  so  mad  he  hurt 
her  sore  leg.  You  know  Jen  got  thet  in  jury  fightin’ 
off  one  of  them  devils  in  the  dark.  An’  when  I seen 
Bland  twist  her — hurt  her — I had  a queer  hot  feelin’ 
deep  down  in  me,  an’  fer  the  only  time  in  my  life 
I wished  I was  a gun-fighter. 

“Wal,  Jen  amazed  me.  She  was  whiter  ’n  a sheet, 
an’  her  eyes  were  big  and  stary,  but  she  had  nerve. 
Fust  time  I ever  seen  her  show  any. 

102 


THE  LONE  STAR. RANGER 


'Jennie,’  he  said,  ‘my  wife  said  Duane  came  here 
to  see  you.  I believe  she’s  lyin’.  I think  she’s  been 
carrying8  on  with  him,  an’  I wrant  to  know.  If  she’s 
been  an’  you  tell  me  the  truth  I’ll  let  you  go.  I’ll 
send  you  out  to  Huntsville,  where  you  can  com- 
municate with  your  friends.  I’ll  give  you  money.’ 

“Thet  must  hev  been  a hell  of  a minnit  fer  Kate 
Bland.  If  ever  I seen  death  in  a man’s  eye  I seen 
it  in  Bland’s.  He  loves  her.  Thet’s  the  strange 
part  of  it. 

“‘Has  Duane  been  cornin’  here  to  see  my  wife?’ 
Bland  asked,  fierce-like. 

“‘No,’  said  Jennie. 

“‘He’s  been  after  you?’ 

“‘Yes.’ 

“‘He  has  fallen  in  love  with  you?  Kate  said 
thet.’ 

“‘I — I'm  not — I don’t  know — he  hasn’t  told 
me.’ 

“ ‘But  you’re  in  love  with  him?’ 

“‘Yes,8  she  said;  an’,  Buck,  if  you  only  could 
have  seen  her!  She  throwed  up  her  head,  an’  her 
eyes  were  full  of  fire.  Bland  seemed  dazed  at  sight 
of  her.  An’  Alloway,  why,  thet  little  skunk  of  an 
outlaw  cried  right  out.  He  was  hit  plumb  center. 
He’s  in  love  with  Jen.  An’  the  look  of  her  then  was 
enough  to  make  any  feller  quit.  He  jest  slunk  out 
of  the  room.  I told  you,  mebbe,  thet  he’d  been 
tryin’  to  git  Bland  to  marry  Jen  to  him.  So  even 
a tough  like  Alloway  can  love  a woman! 

“Bland  stamped  up  an’  down  the  room.  He  sure 
wras  dyin’  hard. 

“ ‘Jennie,’  he  said,  once  more  turnin’  to  her.  ‘You 
103 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


swear  in  fear  of  your  life  thet  you’re  fellin’  truth. 
Kate’s  not  in  love  with  Duane?  She’s  let  him  come 
to  see  you?  There’s  been  nuthin’  between  them?’ 
“‘No.  I swear,’  answered  Jennie;  an’  Bland  sat 
down  like  a man  licked. 

“‘Go  to  bed,  you  white-faced — ’ Bland  choked 
on  some  word  or  other — a bad  one,  I reckon — an’ 
he  positively  shook  in  his  chair. 

“Jennie  went  then,  an’  Kate  began  to  have  hys- 
terics. An’  your  Uncle  Euchre  ducked  his  nut  out 
of  the  door  an’  come  home.” 

Duane  did  not  have  a word  to  say  at  the  end  of 
Euchre’s  long  harangue.  He  experienced  relief. 
4s  a matter  of  fact,  he  had  expected  a good  deal 
worse.  He  thrilled  at  the  thought  of  Jennie  per- 
juring herself  to  save  that  abandoned  woman.  What 
mysteries  these  feminine  creatures  were! 

“Wal,  there’s  where  our  little  deal  stands  now,” 
resumed  Euchre,  meditatively.  “You  know,  Buck, 
as  well  as  me  thet  if  you’d  been  some  feller  who 
hadn’t  shown  he  was  a wonder  with  a gun  you’d 
now  be  full  of  lead.  If  you’d  happen  to  kill  Bland 
an’  Alloway,  I reckon  you’d  be  as  safe  on  this  here 
border  as  you  would  in  Santone.  Such  is  gun  fame 
in  this  land  of  the  draw.” 


CHAPTER  IX 


BOTH  men  were  awake  early,  silent  with  the 
premonition  of  trouble  ahead,  thoughtful  of 
the  fact  that  the  time  for  the  long-planned  action 
was  at  hand.  It  was  remarkable  that  a man  as 
loquacious  as  Euchre  could  hold  his  tongue  so  long; 
and  this  was  significant  of  the  deadly  nature  of  the 
intended  deed.  During  breakfast  he  said  a few 
words  customary  in  the  service  of  food.  At  the 
conclusion  of  the  meal  he  seemed  to  come  to  an  end 
of  deliberation. 

“Buck,  the  sooner  the  better  now,”  he  declared, 
with  a glint  in  his  eye.  “The  more  time  we  use  up 
now  the  less  surprised  Bland  ’ll  be.” 

“I’m  ready  when  you  are,”  replied  Duane,  quietly, 
and  he  rose  from  the  table. 

“Wal,  saddle  up,  then,”  went  on  Euchre,  gruffly. 
“Tie  on  them  two  packs  I made,  one  fer  each  saddle. 
You  can’t  tell — mebbe  either  hoss  will  be  carryin’ 
double.  It’s  good  they’re  both  big,  strong  bosses. 
Guess  thet  wasn’t  a wise  move  of  your  Uncle  Euchre’s 
— bringin’  in  your  hosses  an’  havin’  them  ready?” 
“Euchre,  I hope  you’re  not  going  to  get  in  bad 
here.  I’m  afraid  you  are.  Let  me  do  the  rest 
now,”  said  Duane. 

The  old  outlaw  eyed  him  sarcastically. 

“Thet ’d  be  tumble  now,  wouldn’t  it?  If  you 

IOC 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


want  to  know,  why,  I’m  in  bad  already.  I didn’t 
tell  you  thet  Alloway  called  me  last  night.  He’s 
gettin’  wise  pretty  quick.” 

‘‘Euchre,  you’re  going  with,  me?”  queried  Duane, 
suddenly  divining  the  truth. 

“ Wal,  I reckon.  Either  to  hell  or  safe  over  the 
mountain!  I wisht  I was  a gun-fighter.  I hate  to 
leave  here  without  takin’  a peg  at  Jackrabbit  Ben- 
son. Now,  Buck,  you  do  some  hard  figgerin’  while 
I go  nosin’  round.  It’s  pretty  early,  which ’s  all  the 
better.” 

Euchre  put  on  his  sombrero,  and  as  he  went  out 
Duane  saw  that  he  wore  a gun-and-cartridge  belt. 
It  was  the  first  time  Duane  had  ever  seen  the  out- 
law armed. 

Duane  packed  his  few  belongings  into  his  saddle- 
bags, and  then  carried  the  saddles  out  to  the  corral. 
An  abundance  of  alfalfa  in  the  corral  showed  that 
the  horses  had  fared  well.  They  had  gotten  almost 
fat  during  his  stay  in  the  valley.  He  watered  them, 
put  on  the  saddles  loosely  cinched,  and  then  the 
bridles.  His  next  move  was  to  fill  the  two  canvas 
water-bottles.  That  done,  he  returned  to  the  cabin 
to  wait. 

At  the  moment  he  felt  no  excitement  or  agitation 
of  any  kind.  There  was  no  more  thinking  and  plan- 
ning to  do.  The  hour  had  arrived,  and  he  was  ready. 
He  understood  perfectly  the  desperate  chances  he 
must  take.  His  thoughts  became  confined  to  Euchre 
and  the  surprising  loyalty  and  goodness  in  the  hard- 
ened old  outlaw.  Time  passed  slowly.  Duane  kept 
glancing  at  his  watch.  He  hoped  to  start  the  thing 
and  get  away  before  the  outlaws  were  out  of  their 

106 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


beds.  Finally  he  heard  the  shuffle  of  Euchre’s  boots 
on  the  hard  path.  The  sound  was  quicker  than 
usual. 

When  Euchre  came  around  the  corner  of  the  cabin 
Duane  was  not  so  astounded  as  he  was  concerned 
to  see  the  outlaw  white  and  shaking.  Sweat  dripped 
from  him.  He  had  a wild  look. 

“Luck  ours — so — fur,  Buck!”  he  panted. 

“You  don’t  look  it,”  replied  Duane. 

“I’m  tumble  sick.  Jest  killed  a man.  Fust  one 
I ever  killed!” 

“Who?”  asked  Duane,  startled. 

“Jackrabbit  Benson.  An’  sick  as  I am,  I’m  glory- 
in’  in  it.  I went  nosin’  round  up  the  road.  Saw 
Alloway  goin’  into  Deger’s.  He’s  thick  with  the 
Degers.  Reckon  he’s  askin’  questions.  Anyway, 
I was  sure  glad  to  see  him  away  from  Bland’s.  An’ 
he  didn’t  see  me.  When  I dropped  into  Benson’s 
there  wasn’t  nobody  there  but  Jackrabbit  an’  some 
greasers  he  was  startin’  to  work.  Benson  never  had 
no  use  fer  me.  An’  he  up  an’  said  he  wouldn’t  give 
a two-bit  piece  fer  my  life.  I asked  him  why. 

‘“You’re  double-crossin’  the  boss  an’  Chess,’  he 
said. 

“‘Jack,  what  ’d  you  give  fer  your  own  life?’  I 
asked  him. 

“He  straightened  up  surprised  an’  mean-lookin’. 
An’  I let  him  have  it,  plumb  center!  tie  wilted,  an’ 
the  greasers  run.  I reckon  I’ll  never  sleep  again. 
But  I had  to  do  it.” 

Duane  asked  if  the  shot  had  attracted  any  atten- 
tion outside. 

“I  didn’t  see  anybody  but  the  greasers,  an’  I sure 
8 107 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


looked  sharp.  Cornin’  back  I cut  across  through  the 
cottonwoods  past  Bland’s  cabin.  I meant  to  keep 
out  of  sight,  but  somehow  I had  an  idee  I might  find 
out  if  Bland  was  awake  yet.  Sure  enough  I run 
plumb  into  Beppo,  the  boy  who  tends  Bland’s 
hosses.  Beppo  likes  me.  An’  when  I inquired  of 
his  boss  he  said  Bland  had  been  up  all  night  fightin’ 
with  the  Senora.  An’,  Buck,  here’s  how  I figger. 
Bland  couldn’t  let  up  last  night.  He  was  sore,  an’ 
he  went  after  Kate  again,  tryin’  to  wear  her  down. 
Jest  as  likely  he  might  have  went  after  Jen- 
nie, with  wuss  intentions.  Anyway,  he  an’  Kate 
must  have  had  it  hot  an’  heavy.  We’re  pretty 
lucky.” 

“It  seems  so.  Well,  I’m  going,”  said  Duane, 
tersely. 

“Lucky!  I should  smile!  Bland’s  been  up  all 
night  after  a most  draggin’  ride  home.  He’ll  be 
fagged  out  this  mornin’,  sleepy,  sore,  an’  he  won’t 
be  expectin’  hell  before  breakfast.  Now,  you  walk 
over  to  his  house.  Meet  him  how  you  like.  Thet’s 
your  game.  But  I’m  suggestin’,  if  he  comes  out  an’ 
you  want  to  parley,  you  can  jest  say  you’d  thought 
over  his  proposition  an’  was  ready  to  join  his  band, 
or  you  ain’t.  You’ll  have  to  kill  him,  an’  it ’d  save 
time  to  go  fer  your  gun  on  sight.  Might  be  wise, 
coo,  fer  it’s  likely  he’ll  do  thet  same.” 

“How  about  the  horses?” 

“I’ll  fetch  them  an’  come  along  about  two  min- 
nits  behind  you.  ’Pears  to  me  you  ought  to  have 
the  job  done  an’  Jennie  outside  by  the  time  I git 
there.  Once  on  them  hosses,  we  can  ride  out  of 
camp  before  Alloway  or  anybody  else  gits  into 

108 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


action.  Jennie  ain’t  much  heavier  ’n  a rabbit.  Thet 
big  black  will  carry  you  both.” 

“All  right.  But  once  more  let  me  persuade  you 
to  stay — not  to  mix  any  more  in  this,”  said  Duane, 
earnestly. 

“Nope.  I’m  goin’.  You  heard  what  Benson 
told  me.  Alloway  wouldn’t  give  me  the  benefit  of 
any  doubts.  Buck,  a last  word — look  out  fer  thet 
Bland  woman!” 

Duane  merely  nodded,  and  then,  saying  that  the 
horses  were  ready,  he  strode  away  through  the  grove. 
Accounting  for  the  short  cut  across  grove  and  field, 
it  was  about  five  minutes’  walk  up  to  Bland’s  house. 
To  Duane  it  seemed  long  in  time  and  distance,  and 
he  had  difficulty  in  restraining  his  pace.  As  he 
walked  there  came  a gradual  and  subtle  change  in 
his  feelings.  Again  he  was  going  out  to  meet  a man 
in  conflict.  He  could  have  avoided  this  meeting. 
But  despite  the  fact  of  his  courting  the  encounter 
he  had  not  as  yet  felt  that  hot,  inexplicable  rush  of 
blood.  The  motive  of  this  deadly  action  was  not 
personal,  and  somehow  that  made  a difference. 

No  outlaws  were  in  sight.  He  saw  several  Mexi- 
can herders  with  cattle.  Blue  columns  of  smoke 
curled  up  over  some  of  the  cabins.  The  fragrant 
smell  of  it  reminded  Duane  of  his  home  and  cutting 
wood  for  the  stove.  He  noted  a cloud  of  creamy 
mist  rising  above  the  river,  dissolving  in  the  sun- 
light. 

Then  he  entered  Bland’s  lane. 

While  yet  some  distance  from  the  cabin  he  heard 
loud,  angry  voices  of  man  and  woman.  Bland  and 
Kate  still  quarreling!  He  took  a quick  survey  of 

109 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANKER 


the  surroundings.  There  was  now  not  even  a 
Mexican  in  sight.  Then  he  hurried  a little.  Half- 
way down  the  lane  he  turned  his  head  to  peer 
through  the  cottonwoods.  This  time  he  saw  Euchre 
coming  with  the  horses.  There  was  no  indication 
that  the  old  outlaw  might  lose  his  nerve  at  the  end. 
Duane  had  feared  this. 

Duane  now  changed  his  walk  to  a leisurely  saunter. 
He  reached  the  porch  and  then  distinguished  what 
was  said  inside  the  cabin. 

“If  you  do,  Bland,  by  Heaven  I’ll  fix  you  and 
her!”  That  was  panted  out  in  Kate  Bland’s  full 
voice. 

“Let  me  loose!  I’m  going  in  there,  I tell  you!” 
replied  Bland,  hoarsely. 

“What  for?” 

“I  want  to  make  a little  love  to  her.  Ha!  ha! 
It  ’ll  be  fun  to  have  the  laugh  on  her  new  lover.” 

“You  lie!”  cried  Kate  Bland. 

“I’m  not  saying  what  I’ll  do  to  her  afterward!” 
His  voice  grew  hoarser  with  passion.  “Let  me 
go  now!” 

“No!  no!  I won’t  let  you  go.  You’ll  choke  the 
— the  truth  out  of  her — you’ll  kill  her.” 

“The  truth!”  hissed  Bland. 

“Yes.  I lied.  Jen  lied.  But  she  lied  to  save 
me.  You  needn’t — murder  her — for  that.” 

Bland  cursed  horribly.  Then  followed  a wrestling 
sound  of  bodies  in  violent  straining  contact — the 
scrape  of  feet — the  jangle  of  spurs — a crash  of  slid- 
ing table  or  chair,  and  then  the  cry  of  a woman  in 
pain. 

Duane  stepped  into  the  open  door,  inside  the 
no 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

room.  Kate  Bland  lay  half  across  a table  where  she 
had  been  flung,  and  she  was  trying  to  get  to  her 
feet.  Bland’s  back  was  turned.  He  had  opened 
the  door  into  Jennie’s  room  and  had  one  foot  across 
the  threshold.  Duane  caught  the  girl’s  low,  shud- 
dering cry.  Then  he  called  out  loud  and  clear. 

With  cat-like  swiftness  Bland  wheeled,  then  froze 
on  the  threshold.  His  sight,  quick  as  his  action, 
caught  Duane’s  menacing,  unmistakable  position. 

Bland’s  big  frame  filled  the  door.  He  was  in  a 
bad  place  to  reach  for  his  gun.  But  he  would  not 
have  time  for  a step.  Duane  read  in  his  eyes  the 
desperate  calculation  of  chances.  For  a fleeting  in- 
stant Bland  shifted  his  glance  to  his  wife.  Then  his 
whole  body  seemed  to  vibrate  with  the  swing  of  his 
arm. 

Duane  shot  him.  He  fell  forward,  his  gun  ex- 
ploding as  it  hit  into  the  floor,  and  dropped  loose 
from  stretching  fingers.  Duane  stood  over  him, 
stooped  to  turn  him  on  his  back.  Bland  looked  up 
with  clouded  gaze,  then  gasped  his  last. 

“Duane,  you’ve  killed  him!”  cried  Kate  Bland, 
huskily.  “I  knew  you’d  have  to!” 

She  staggered  against  the  wall,  her  eyes  dilating, 
her  strong  hands  clenching,  her  face  slowly  whitening. 
She  appeared  shocked,  half  stunned,  but  showed  no 
grief. 

“Jennie!”  called  Duane,  sharply. 

“Oh — Duane!”  came  a halting  reply. 

“Yes.  Come  out.  , Hurry!” 

She  came  out  with  uneven  steps,  seeing  only  him, 
and  she  stumbled  over  Bland’s  body.  Duane  caught 
her  arm,  swung  her  behind  him.  Fie  feared  the 

in 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


woman  when  she  realized  how  she  had  been  duped. 
His  action  was  protective,  and  his' movement  toward 
the  door  equally  as  significant. 

“Duane!”  cried  Mrs.  Bland. 

It  was  no  time  for  talk.  Duane  edged  on,  keep- 
ing Jennie  behind  him.  At  that  moment  there  was 
a pounding  of  iron-shod  hoofs  out  in  the  lane.  Kate 
Bland  bounded  to  the  door.  When  she  turned  back 
her  amazement  was  changing  to  realization. 

“Where  ’re  you  taking  Jen?”  she  cried,  her  voice 
like  a man’s. 

“Get  out  of  my  way,”  replied  Duane.  His  look 
perhaps,  without  speech,  was  enough  for  her.  In 
an  instant  she  was  transformed  into  a fury. 

“You  hound!  All  the  time  you  were  fooling  me! 
You  made  love  to  me!  You  let  me  believe — you 
swore  you  loved  me!  Now  I see  what  was  queer 
about  you.  All  for  that  girl!  But  you  can’t  have 
her.  You’ll  never  leave  here  alive.  Give  me  that 
girl!  Let  me — get  at  her!  She’ll  never  win  any 
more  men  in  this  camp.” 

She  was  a powerful  woman,  and  it  took  all  Duane’s 
strength  to  ward  off  her  onslaughts.  She  clavred  at 
Jennie  over  his  upheld  arm.  Every  second  her  fury 
increased. 

“Help!  kelp!  help!”  she  shrieked,  in  a voice 
that  must  have  penetrated  to  the  remotest  cabin 
in  the  valley. 

“Let  go!  Let  go!”  cried  Duane,  low  and  sharp. 
He  still  held  his  gun  in  his  right  hand,  and  it  began 
to  be  hard  for  him  to  ward  the  woman  off.  His  cool- 
ness had  gone  with  her  shriek  for  help.  “Let  go!” 
he  repeated,  and  he  shoved  her  fiercely. 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Suddenly  she  snatched  a rifle  off  the  wall  and 
backed  away,  her  strong  hands  fumbling  at  the 
lever.  As  she  jerked  it  down,  throwing  a shell  into 
the  chamber  and  cocking  the  weapon,  Duane  leaped 
upon  her.  He  struck  up  the  rifle  as  it  went  off,  the 
powder  burning  his  face. 

“Jennie,  run  out!  Get  on  a horse!”  he  said. 

Jennie  flashed  out  of  the  door. 

With  an  iron  grasp  Duane  held  to  the  rifle-barrel. 
He  had  grasped  it  with  his  left  hand,  and  he  gave 
such  a pull  that  he  swung  the  crazed  woman  off  the 
floor.  But  he  could  not  loose  her  grip.  She  was  as 
strong  as  he. 

“Kate!  Let  go!” 

He  tried  to  intimidate  her.  She  did  not  see  his 
gun  thrust  in  her  face,  or  reason  had  given  way  to 
such  an  extent  to  passion  that  she  did  not  care. 
She  cursed.  Her  husband  had  used  the  same  curses, 
and  from  her  lips  they  seemed  strange,  unsexed, 
more  deadly.  Like  a tigress  she  fought  him;  her 
face  no  longer  resembled  a woman’s.  The  evil  of 
that  outlaw  life,  the  wildness  and  rage,  the  meaning 
to  kill,  was  even  in  such  a moment  terribly  impressed 
upon  Duane. 

He  heard  a cry  from  outside — a man’s  cry,  hoarse 
and  alarming. 

It  made  him  think  of  loss  of  time.  This  demon  of 
a woman  might  yet  block  his  plan. 

“Let  go!”  he  whispered,  and  felt  his  lips  stiff 
In  the  grimness  of  that  instant  he  relaxed  his  hold 
on  the  rifle-barrel. 

With  sudden,  redoubled,  irresistible  strength  she 
wrenched  the  rifle  down  and  discharged  it.  Duane 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


felt  a blow  — a shock  — a burning  agony  tearing 
through  his  breast.  Then  in  a frenzy  he  jerked  so 
powerfully  upon  the  rifle  that  he  threw  the  woman 
against  the  wall.  She  fell  and  seemed  stunned. 

Duane  leaped  back,  whirled,  flew  out  of  the  door 
to  the  porch.  The  sharp  cracking  of  a gun  halted 
him.  He  saw  Jennie  holding  to  the  bridle  of  his 
bay  horse.  Euchre  was  astride  the  other,  and  he 
had  a Colt  leveled,  and  he  was  firing  down  the  lane. 
Then  came  a single  shot,  heavier,  and  Euchre’s 
ceased.  He  fell  from  the  horse. 

A swift  glance  back  showed  to  Duane  a man 
coming  down  the  lane.  Chess  Alloway!  His  gun 
was  smoking.  He  broke  into  a run.  Then  in  an 
instant  he  saw  Duane,  and  tried  to  check  his  pace 
as  he  swung  up  his  arm.  But  that  slight  pause  was 
fatal.  Duane  shot,  and  Alloway  was  falling  when 
his  gun  went  off.  His  bullet  whistled  close  to 
Diiane  and  thudded  into  the  cabin. 

Duane  bounded  down  to  the  horses.  Jennie  was 
trying  to  hold  the  plunging  bay.  Euchre  lay  flat 
on  his  back,  dead,  a bullet-hole  in  his  shirt,  his  face 
set  hard,  and  his  hands  twisted  round  gun  and 
bridle. 

“Jennie,  you’ve  nerve,  all  right!’’  cried  Duane,  as 
he  dragged  down  the  horse  she  was  holding.  “Up 
with  you  now!  There!  Never  mind — long  stir- 
rups! Hang  on  somehow!” 

He  caught  his  bridle  out  of  Euchre’s  clutching 
grip  and  leaped  astride.  The  frightened  horses 
jumped  into  a run  and  thundered  down  the  lane 
into  the  road.  Duane  saw  men  running  from  cabins. 
He  heard  shouts.  But  there  were  no  shots  fired. 

114 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

Jennie  seemed  able  to  stay  on  her  horse,  but  with- 
out stirrups  she  was  thrown  about  so  much  that 
Duane  rode  closer  and  reached  out  to  grasp  her 
arm. 

Thus  they  rode  through  the  valley  to  the  trail 
that  led  up  over  the  steep  and  broken  Rim  Rock. 
As  they  began  to  climb  Duane  looked  back.  No  pur- 
suers were  in  sight. 

“Jennie,  we’re  going  to  get  away!”  he  cried, 
exultation  for  her  in  his  voice. 

She  was  gazing  horror-stricken  at  his  breast,  as  in 
turning  to  look  back  he  faced  her. 

“Oh,  Duane,  your  shirt’s  all  bloody!”  she  faltered, 
pointing  with  trembling  fingers. 

With  her  words  Duane  became  aware  of  two 
things — the  hand  he  instinctively  placed  to  his 
breast  still  held  his  gun,  and  he  had  sustained  a 
terrible  wound. 

Duane  had  been  shot  through  the  breast  far 
enough  down  to  give  him  grave  apprehension  of  his 
life.  The  clean-cut  hole  made  by  the  bullet  bled 
freely  both  at  its  entrance  and  where  it  had  come 
out,  but  with  no  signs  of  hemorrhage.  He  did  not 
bleed  at  the  mouth;  however,  he  began  to  cough 
up  a reddish-tinged  foam. 

As  they  rode  on  Jennie,  with  pale  face  and  mute 
lips,  looked  at  him. 

“I’m  badly  hurt,  Jennie,”  he  said,  “but  I guess  I’ll 
stick  it  out.” 

“The  woman — did  she  shoot  you?” 

“Yes.  - She  was  a devil.  Euchre  told  me  to  look 
out  for  her.  I wasn’t  quick  enough.” 

“You  didn’t  have  to — to — ” shivered  the  girl. 

ns 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“No!  no!”  he  replied. 

They  did  not  stop  climbing  while  Duane  tore  a 
scarf  and  made  compresses,  which  he  bound  tightly 
over  his  wounds.  The  fresh  horses  made  fast  time 
up  the  rough  trail.  From  open  places  Duane  looked 
down.  When  they  surmounted  the  steep  ascent 
and  stood  on  top  of  the  Rim  Rock,  with  no  signs 
of  pursuit  down  in  the  valley,  and  with  the  wild, 
broken  fastnesses  before  them,  Duane  turned  to  the 
girl  and  assured  her  that  th'ey  now  had  every  chance 
of  escape. 

“But — your — wound!”  she  faltered,  with  dark, 
troubled  eyes.  “I  see — the  blood — dripping  from 
your  back!” 

“Jennie,  I’ll  take  a lot  of  killing,”  he  said. 

Then  he  became  silent  and  attended  to  the  un- 
even trail.  He  was  aware  presently  that  he  had  not 
come  into  Bland’s  camp  by  this  route.  But  that  did 
not  matter;  any  trail  leading  out  beyond  the  Rim 
Rock  was  safe  enough.  What  he  wanted  was  to 
get  far  away  into  some  wild  retreat  where  he  could 
hide  till  he  recovered  from  his  wound.  He  seemed 
to  feel  a fire  inside  his  breast,  and  his  throat  burned 
so  that  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  take  a swallow 
of  water  every  little  while.  He  began  to  suffer  con- 
siderable pain,  which  increased  as  the  hours  went 
by  and  then  gave  way  to  a numbness.  From  that 
time  on  he  had  need  of  his  great  strength  and  en- 
durance. Gradually  he  lost  his  steadiness  and  his 
keen  sight;  and  he  realized  that  if  he  were  to  meet 
foes,  or  if  pursuing  outlaws  should  come  up  with 
him,  he  could  make  only  a poor  stand.  So  he  turned 
off  on  a trad  that  appeared  seldom  traveled. 

116 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

Soon  after  this  move  he  became  conscious  of  a 
further  thickening  of  his  senses.  He  felt  able  to 
hold  on  to  his  saddle  for  a while  longer,  but  he  was 
failing.  Then  he  thought  he  ought  to  advise  Jen- 
nie, so  in  case  she  was  left  alone  she  would  have 
some  idea  of  what  to  do. 

“Jennie,  I’ll  give  out  soon,”  he  said.  “No — I 
don’t  mean — what  you  think.  But  I’ll  drop  soon. 
My  strength’s  going.  If  I die — you  ride  back  to 
the  main  trail.  Hide  and  rest  by  day.  Ride  at 
night.  That  trail  goes  to  water.  I believe  you 
could  get  across  the  Nueces,  where  some  rancher 
will  take  you  in.” 

Duane  could  not  get  the  meaning  of  her  incoherent 
reply.  He  rode  on,  and  soon  he  could  not  see  the 
trail  or  hear  his  horse.  He  did  not  know  whether 
they  traveled  a mile  or  many  times  that  far.  But 
he  was  conscious  when  the  horse  stopped,  and  had 
a vague  sense  of  falling  and  feeling  Jennie’s  arms 
before  all  became  dark  to  him. 

When  consciousness  returned  he  found  himself 
lying  in  a little  hut  of  mesquite  branches.  It  was 
well  built  and  evidently  some  years  old.  There  were 
two  doors  or  openings,  one  in  front  and  the  other  at 
the  back.  Duane  imagined  it  had  been  built  by  a 
fugitive — one  who  meant  to  keep  an  eye  both  ways 
and  not  to  be  surprised.  Duane  felt  weak  and 
had  no  desire  to  move.  Where  was  he,  anyway? 
A strange,  intangible  sense  of  time,  distance,  of 
something  far  behind  weighed  upon  him.  Sight  of 
the  two  packs  Euchre  had  made  brought  his  thought 
to  Jennie.  What  had  become  of  her?  There  was 
evidence  of  her  work  in  a smoldering  fire  and  a 

ii7 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


little  blackened  coffee-pot.  Probably  she  was  out- 
side looking  after  the  horses  or  getting  water.  He 
thought  he  heard  a step  and  listened,  but  he  felt 
tired,  and  presently  his  eyes  closed  and  he  fell  into 
a doze. 

Awakening  from  this,  he  saw  Jennie  sitting  beside 
him.  In  some  way  she  seemed  to  have  changed. 
When  he  spoke  she  gave  a start  and  turned  eagerly 
to  him. 

“Duane!”  she  cried. 

“Hello.  How  ’re  you,  Jennie,  and  how  am  I?” 
he  said,  finding  it  a little  difficult  to  talk. 

“Oh,  I’m  all  right,”  she  replied.  “And  you’ve 
come  to — your  wound’s  healed;  but  you’ve  been 
sick.  Fever,  I guess.  I did  all  I could.” 

Duane  saw  now  that  the  difference  in  her  was  a 
whiteness  and  tightness  of  skin,  a hollowness  of  eye, 
a look  of  strain. 

“Fever?  How  long  have  we  been  here?”  he  asked. 

She  took  some  pebbles  from  the  crown  of  his  som- 
brero and  counted  them. 

“Nine.  Nine  days,”  she  answered. 

“Nine  days!”  he  exclaimed,  incredulously.  But 
another  look  at  her  assured  him  that  she  meant 
what  she  said.  “I’ve  been  sick  all  the  time?  You 
nursed  me?” 

“Yes.” 

“Bland’s  men  didn’t  come  along  here?” 

“No.” 

“Where  are  the  horses?” 

“I  keep  them  grazing  down  in  a gorge  back  of 
here.  There’s  good  grass  and  water.” 

“Have  you  slept  any?” 

118 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“A  little.  Lately  I couldn’t  keep  awake.” 

“Good  Lord!  I should  think  not.  You’ve  had 
a time  of  it  sitting  here  day  and  night  nursing 
me,  watching  for  the  outlaws.  Come,  tell  me  all 
about  it.” 

“There’s  nothing  much  to  tell.” 

“I  want  to  know,  anyway,  just  what  you  did — 
how  you  felt.” 

“I  can’t  remember  very  well,”  she  replied,  simply. 
“We  must  have  ridden  forty  miles  that  day  we  got 
away.  You  bled  all  the  time.  Toward  evening 
you  lay  on  your  horse’s  neck.  When  we  came  to 
this  place  you  fell  out  of  the  saddle.  I dragged  you 
in  here  and  stopped  your  bleeding.  I thought  you’d 
die  that  night.  But  in  the  morning  I had  a little 
hope.  I had  forgotten  the  horses.  But  luckily  they 
didn’t  stray  far.  I caught  them  and  kept  them 
down  in  the  gorge.  When  your  wounds  closed  and 
you  began  to  breathe  stronger  I thought  you’d  get 
well  quick.  It  was  fever  that  put  you  back.  You 
raved  a lot,  and  that  worried  me,  because  I couldn’t 
stop  you.  Anybody  trailing  us  could  have  heard 
you  a good  ways.  I don’t  know  whether  I was 
scared  most  then  or  when  you  were  quiet,  and  it  was 
so  dark  and  lonely  and  still  all  around.  Every  day 
,1  put  a stone  in  your  hat.” 

“Jennie,  you  saved  my  life,”  said  Duane. 

“I  don’t  know.  Maybe.  I did  all  I knew  how 
to  do,”  she  replied.  “You  saved  mine — more  than 
my  life.” 

Their  eyes  met  in  a long  gaze,  and  then  their  hands 
in  a close  clasp. 

“Jennie,  we’re  going  to  get  away,”  he  said,  with 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


gladness.  “I’ll  be  well  in  a few  days.  You  don’t 
know  how  strong  I am.  We’ll  hide  by  day  and  travel 
by  night.  I can  get  you  across  the  river.” 

“And  then?”  she  asked. 

“We’ll  find  some  honest  rancher.” 

“And  then?”  she  persisted. 

“Why,”  he  began,  slowly,  “that’s  as  far  as  my 
thoughts  ever  got.  It  was  pretty  hard,  I tell  you, 
to  assure  myself  of  so  much.  It  means  your  safety. 
You’ll  tell  your  story.  You’ll  be  sent  to  some  vil- 
lage or  town  and  taken  care  of  until  a relative  or 
friend  is  notified.” 

“And  you?”  she  inquired,  in  a strange  voice. 

Duane  kept  silence. 

“What  will  you  do?”  she  went  on. 

“Jennie,  I’ll  go  back  to  the  brakes.  I daren’t 
show  my  face  among  respectable  people.  I’m  an 
outlaw.” 

“You’re  no  criminal!”  she  declared,  with  deep 
passion. 

“Jennie,  on  this  border  the  little  difference  be- 
tween an  outlaw  and  a criminal  doesn’t  count  for 
much.” 

“You  won’t  go  back  among  those  terrible  men? 
You,  with  your  gentleness  and  sweetness — all  that’s 
good  about  you?  Oh,  Duane,  don’t — don’t  go!” 

“I  can’t  go  back  to  the  outlaws,  at  least  not 
Bland’s  band.  No,  I’ll  go  alone.  I’ll  lone-wolf  it, 
as  they  say  on  the  border.  What  else  can  I do, 
Jennie?” 

“ Oh,  I don’t  know.  Couldn’t  you  hide?  Couldn’t 
you  slip  out  of  Texas — go  far  away?” 

“I  could  never  get  out  of  Texas  without  being 

120 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


arrested.  I could  hide,  but  a man  must  live.  Never 
mind  about  me,  Jennie.” 

In  three  days  Duane  was  able  with  great  diffi- 
culty to  mount  his  horse.  During  daylight,  by 
short  relays,  he  and  Jennie  rode  back  to  the  main 
trail,  where  they  hid  again  till  he  had  rested.  Then 
in  the  dark  they  rode  out  of  the  canons  and  gullies 
of  the  Rim  Rock,  and  early  in  the  morning  halted 
at  the  first  water  to  camp. 

From  that  point  they  traveled  after  nightfall  and 
went  into  hiding  during  the  day.  Once  across  the 
Nueces  River,  Duane  was  assured  of  safety  for  her 
and  great  danger  for  himself.  They  had  crossed 
into  a country  he  did  not  know.  Somewhere  east 
of  the  river  there  were  scattered  ranches.  But  he 
was  as  liable  to  find  the  rancher  in  touch  with  the 
outlaws  as  he  was  likely  to  find  him  honest.  Duane 
hoped  his  good  fortune  would  not  desert  him  in 
this  last  service  to  Jennie.  Next  to  the  worry  of 
that  was  realization  of  his  condition.  He  had  gotten 
up  too  soon;  he  had  ridden  too  far  and  hard,  and 
now  he  felt  that  any  moment  he  might  fall  from 
his  saddle.  At  last,  far  ahead  over  a barren  mesquite- 
dotted  stretch  of  dusty  ground,  he  espied  a patch  of 
green  and  a little  flat,  red  ranch-house.  He  headed 
his  horse  for  it  and  turned  a face  he  tried  to  make 
cheerful  for  Jennie’s  sake.  She  seemed  both  happy 
and  sorry. 

When  near  at  hand  he  saw  that  the  rancher  was 
a thrifty  farmer.  And  thrift  spoke  for  honesty. 
There  were  fields  of  alfalfa,  fruit-trees,  corrals,  wind- 
mill pumps,  irrigation  - ditches,  all  surrounding  a 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


neat  little  adobe  house.  Some  children  were  playing 
in  the  yard.  The  way  they  ran  at  sight  of  Duane 
hinted  of  both  the  loneliness  and  the  fear  of  their  iso- 
lated lives.  Duane  saw  a woman  come  to  the  door, 
then  a man.  The  latter  looked  keenly,  then  stepped 
outside.  He  was  a sandy-haired,  freckled  Texan. 

“Howdy,  stranger,”  he  called,  as  Duane  halted. 
“Get  down,  you  an’  your  woman.  Say,  now,  air 
you  sick  or  shot  of  what?  Let  me — ” 

Duane,  reeling  in  his  saddle,  bent  searching  eyes 
upon  the  rancher.  He  thought  he  saw  good  will, 
kindness,  honesty.  He  risked  all  on  that  one  sharp 
glance.  Then  he  almost  plunged  from  the  saddle. 

The  rancher  caught  him,  helped  him  to  a bench. 

‘ * Martha,  come  out  here !”  he  called.  ‘ ‘ This  man’s 
sick.  No;  he’s  shot,  or  I don’t  know  blood-stains.” 

Jennie  had  slipped  off  her  horse  and  to  Duane’s 
side.  Duane  appeared  about  to  faint. 

“Air  you  his  wife?”  asked  the  rancher. 

“No.  I’m  only  a girl  he  saved  from  outlaws. 
Oh,  he’s  so  pale!  Duane,  Duane!” 

“Buck  Duane!”  exclaimed  the  rancher,  excitedly. 
“The  man  who  killed  Bland  an’  Alio  way?  Say, 
I owe  him  a good  turn,  an’  I’ll  pay  it,  young 
woman.” 

The  rancher’s  wife  came  out,  and  with  a manner 
at  once  kind  and  practical  essayed  to  make  Duane 
drink  from  a flask.  He  was  not  so  far  gone  that  he 
could  not  recognize  its  contents,  which  he  refused, 
and  weakly  asked  for  water.  When  that  was  given 
him  he  found  his  voice. 

“Yes,  I’m  Duane.  I’ve  only  overdone  myself — 
just  all  in.  The  wounds  I got  at  Bland’s  are  healing. 

122 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Will  you  take  this  girl  in — hide  her  awhile  till  the 
excitement’s  over  among  the  outlaws?” 

“I  shore  will,”  replied  the  Texan. 

‘ Thanks.  I’ll  remember  you — I’ll  square  it.” 
‘‘What  ’re  you  goin’  to  do?” 

‘Til  rest  a bit — then  go  back  to  the  brakes.” 
‘‘Young  man,  you  ain’t  in  any  shape  to  travel. 
See  here — any  rustlers  on  your  trail?” 

‘‘I  think  we  gave  Bland’s  gang  the  slip.” 

‘‘Good.  I’ll  tell  you  what.  I’ll  take  you  in  along 
with  the  girl,  an’  hide  both  of  you  till  you  get  well. 
It  ’ll  be  safe.  My  nearest  neighbor  is  five  miles 
off.  We  don’t  have  much  company.” 

‘‘You  risk  a great  deal.  Both  outlaws  and  rangers 
are  hunting  me,”  said  Duane. 

‘‘Never  seen  a ranger  yet  in  these  parts.  An’ 
have  always  got  along  with  outlaws,  mebbe  exceptin’ 
Bland.  I tell  you  I owe  you  a good  turn.” 

‘‘My  horses  might  betray  you,”  added  Duane. 
“I’ll  hide  them  in  a place  where  there’s  water  an’ 
grass.  Nobody  goes  to  it.  Come  now,  let  me  help 
you  indoors.” 

Duane’s  last  fading  sensations  of  that  hard  day 
were  the  strange  feel  of  a bed,  a relief  at  the  removal 
of  his  heavy  boots,  and  of  Jennie’s  soft,  cool  hands 
on  his  hot  face. 

He  lay  ill  for  three  weeks  before  he  began  to  mend, 
and  it  was  another  week  then  before  he  could  walk 
out  a little  in  the  dusk  of  the  evenings.  After  that 
his  strength  returned  rapidly.  And  it  was  only  at 
the  end  of  this  long  siege  that  he  recovered  his  spirits. 
During  most  of  his  illness  he  had  been  silent,  moody. 

9 123 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“Jennie,  I’ll  be  riding  off  soon,”  he  said,  one  even- 
ing. “I  can’t  impose  on  this  good  man  Andrews 
much  longer.  I’ll  never  forget  his  kindness.  His 
wife,  too — she’s  been  so  good  to  us.  Yes,  Jennie, 
you  and  I will  have  to  say  good-by  very  soon.” 

“Don’t  hurry  away,”  she  replied. 

Lately  Jennie  had  appeared  strange  to  him.  She 
had  changed  from  the  girl  he  used  to  see  at  Mrs, 
Bland’s  house.  He  took  her  reluctance  to  say  good- 
by  as  another  indication  of  her  regret  that  he  must 
go  back  to  the  brakes.  Yet  somehow  it  made  him 
observe  her  more  closely.  She  wore  a plain,  white 
dress  made  from  material  Mrs.  Andrews  had  given 
her.  Sleep  and  good  food  had  improved  her.  If 
she  had  been  pretty  out  there  in  the  outlaw  den, 
now  she  was  more  than  that.  But  she  had  the  same 
paleness,  the  same  strained  look,  the  same  dark 
eyes  full  of  haunting  shadows.  After  Duane’s  reali- 
zation of  the  change  in  her  he  watched  her  more, 
with  a growing  certainty  that  he  would  be  sorry 
not  to  see  her  again. 

“It’s  likely  we  won’t  ever  see  each  other  again,” 
he  said.  “That’s  strange  to  think  of.  We’ve  been 
through  some  hard  days,  and  I seem  to  have  known 
you  a long  time.” 

Jennie  appeared  shy,  almost  sad,  so  Duane  changed 
the  subject  to  something  less  personal. 

Andrews  returned  one  evening  from  a several 
days’  trip  to  Huntsville. 

“Duane,  everybody’s  talkin’  about  how  you 
cleaned  up  the  Bland  outfit,”  he  said,  important 
and  full  of  news.  “It’s  some  exaggerated,  accordin' 

124 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


to  what  yxi  told  me;  but  you’ve  shore  made  friends 
on  this  side  of  the  Nueces.  I reckon  there  ain’t  a 
town  where  you  wouldn’t  find  people  to  welcome 
you.  Huntsville,  you  know,  is  some  divided  in  its 
ideas.  Half  the  people  are  crooked.  Likely  enough, 
all  them  who  was  so  loud  in  praise  of  you  are  the 
crookedest.  For  instance,  I met  King  Fisher,  the 
boss  outlaw  of  these  parts.  Well,  King  thinks  he’s 
a decent  citizen.  He  was  tellin’  me  what  a grand 
job  yours  was  for  the  border  an’  honest  cattlemen. 
Now  that  Bland  and  Alloway  are  done  for,  King 
Fisher  will  find  rustlin’  easier.  There’s  talk  of 
Hardin  movin’  his  camp  over  to  Bland’s.  But  I 
don’t  know  how  true  it  is.  I reckon  there  ain’t  much 
to  it.  In  the  past  when  a big  outlaw  chief  went 
under,  his  band  almost  always  broke  up  an’  scattered. 
There’s  no  one  left  who  could  run  thet  outfit.” 

‘‘Did  you  hear  of  any  outlaws  hunting  me?”  asked 
Duane. 

‘‘Nobody  from  Bland’s  outfit  is  huntin’  you,  thet’s 
shore,”  replied  Andrews  “Fisher  said  there  never 
was  a hoss  straddled  to  go  on  your  trail.  Nobody 
had  any  use  for  Bland.  Anyhow,  his  men  would 
be  afraid  to  trail  you.  An’  you  could  go  right  in  to 
Huntsville,  where  you’d  be  some  popular.  Reckon 
you’d  be  safe,  too,  except  when  some  of  them  fool 
saloon  loafers  or  bad  cowpunchers  would  try  to 
shoot  you  for  the  glory  in  it.  Them  kind  of  men 
will  bob  up  everywhere  you  go,  Duane.” 

“I’ll  be  able  to  ride  and  take  care  of  myself  in  a 
day  or  two,”  went  on  Duane.  “Then  I’ll  go — I’d 
like  to  talk  to  you  about  Jennie.” 

“She’s  welcome  to  a home  here  with  us.” 

125 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“Thank  you,  Andrews.  You’re  a klad  man. 
But  I want  Jennie  to  get  farther  away  from  the  Rio 
Grande.  She’d  never  be  safe  here.  Besides,  she 
may  be  able  to  find  relatives.  She  has  some,  though 
she  doesn’t  know  where  they  are.” 

“All  right,  Duane.  Whatever  you  think  best.  1 
reckon  now  you’d  better  take  her  to  some  town. 
Go  north  an’  strike  for  Shelbyville  or  Crockett 
Them’s  both  good  towns.  I’ll  tell  Jennie  the  names 
of  men  who’ll  help  her.  You  needn’t  ride  into  town 
at  all.” 

‘ ‘ Which  place  is  nearer,  and  how  far  is  it?” 

“Shelbyville.  I reckon  about  two  days’  ride. 
Poor  stock  country,  so  you  ain’t  liable  to  meet 
rustlers.  All  the  same,  better  hit  the  trail  at 
night  an’  go  careful.” 

At  sunset  two  days  later  Duane  and  Jennie  mount- 
ed their  horses  a,nd  said  good-by  to  the  rancher  and 
his  wife.  Andrews  would  not  listen  to  Duane’s 
thanks. 

“I  tell  you  I’m  beholden  to  you  yet,”  he  de- 
clared. 

“Well,  what  can  I do  for  you?”  asked  Duane.  “I 
may  come  along  here  again  some  day.” 

“Get  down  an’  come  in,  then,  or  you’re  no  friend 
of  mine.  I reckon  there  ain’t  nothin’  I can  think 
of — ■ I just  happen  to  remember — ” Here  he  led 
Duane  out  of  earshot  of  the  women  and  went  on  in 
a whisper.  “Buck,  I used  to  be  well-to-do.  Got 
skinned  by  a man  named  Brown — Rodney  Brown. 
He  lives  in  Huntsville,  an’  he’s  my  enemy.  I never 
was  much  on  fightin’,  or  I’d  fixed  him.  Brown  ruined 
me — stole  all  I had.  He’s  a hoss  an’  cattle  thief. 
126 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


an’  he  has  pull  enough  at  home  to  protect  him.  I 
reckon  I needn’t  say  any  more.” 

‘ ‘ Is  this  Brown  a man  who  shot  an  outlaw  named 
Stevens?”  queried  Duane,  curiously. 

‘‘Shore,  he’s  the  same.  I heard  thet  story.  Brown 
swears  he  plugged  Stevens  through  the  middle.  But 
the  outlaw  rode  off,  an’  nobody  ever  knew  for  shore.” 
“Luke  Stevens  died  of  that  shot.  I buried  him,” 
said  Duane. 

Andrews  made  no  further  comment,  and  the  two 
men  returned  to  the  women. 

“The  main  road  for  about  three  miles,  then  where 
it  forks  take  the  left-hand  road  and  keep  on  straight. 
That  what  you  said,  Andrews?” 

“Shore.  An’  good  luck  to  you  both!” 

Duane  and  Jennie  trotted  away  into  the  gather- 
ing twilight.  At  the  moment  an  insistent  thought 
bothered  Duane.  Both  Luke  Stevens  and  the 
rancher  Andrews  had  hinted  to  Duane  to  kill  a 
'man  named  Brown.  Duane  wished  with  all  his 
heart  that  they  had  not  mentioned  it,  let  alone  taken 
for  granted  the  execution  of  the  deed.  What  a 
bloody  place  Texas  was!  Men  who  robbed  and  men 
who  were  robbed  both  wanted  murder.  It  was  in 
the  spirit  of  the  country.  Duane  certainly  meant 
to  avoid  ever  meeting  this  Rodney  Brown.  And 
that  very  determination  showed  Duane  how  danger- 
ous he  really  was — to  men  and  to  himself.  Some- 
times he  had  a feeling  of  how  little  stood  between 
his  sane  and  better  self  and  a self  utterly  wild  and 
terrible.  He  reasoned  that  only  intelligence  could 
save  him — only  a thoughtful  understanding  of  his 
danger  and  a hold  upon  some  ideal. 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Then  he  fell  into  low  conversation  with  Jennie, 
holding  out  hopeful  views  of  her  future,  and  pres- 
ently darkness  set  in.  The  sky  was  overcast  with 
heavy  clouds;  there  was  no  air  moving;  the  heat 
and  oppression  threatened  storm.  By  and  by 
Duane  could  not  see  a rod  in  front  of  him,  though 
his  horse  had  no  difficulty  in  keeping  to  the  road. 
Duane  was  bothered  by  the  blackness  of  the  night. 
Traveling  fast  was  impossible,  and  any  moment  he 
might  miss  the  road  that  led  off  to  the  left.  So  he 
was  compelled  to  give  all  his  attention  to  peering 
into  the  thick  shadows  ahead.  As  good  luck  would 
have  it,  he  came  to  higher  ground  where  there  was 
less  mesquite,  and  therefore  not  such  impenetrable 
darkness;  and  at  '•'his  point  he  came  to  where  the 
road  split. 

Once  headvt  m 2he  right  direction,  he  felt  easier 
in  mind.  To  his  annoyance,  however,  a fine,  misty 
rain  set  in.  Jennie  was  not  well  dressed  for  wet 
weather;  and,  for  that  matter,  neither  was  he.  His 
coat,  which  in  that  dry  warm  climate  he  seldom 
needed,  was  tied  behind  his  saddle,  and  he  put  it 
on  Jennie. 

They  traveled  on.  The  rain  fell  steadily;  if  any- 
thing, growing  thicker.  Duane  grew  uncomfortably 
wet  and  chilly.  Jennie,  however,  fared  somewhat 
better  by  reason  of  the  heavy  coat.  The  night 
passed  quickly  despite  the  discomfort,  and  soon  a 
gray,  dismal,  rainy  dawn  greeted  the  travelers. 

Jennie  insisted  that  he  find  some  shelter  where  a 
fire  could  be  built  to  dry  his  clothes.  He  was  not 
in  a fit  condition  to  risk  catching  cold.  In  fact, 
Duane’s  teeth  were  chattering.  To  find  a shelter 

128 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


in  that  barren  waste  seemed  a futile  task.  Quite 
unexpectedly,  however,  they  happened  upon  a de- 
serted adobe  cabin  situated  a little  off  the  road. 
Not  only  did  it  prove  to  have  a dry  interior,  but  also 
there  was  firewood.  Water  was  available  in  pools 
everywhere;  however,  there  was  no  grass  for  the 
horses. 

A good  fire  and  hot  food  and  drink  changed  the 
aspect  of  their  condition  as  far  as  comfort  went. 
And  Jennie  lay  down  to  sleep.  For  Duane,  however, 
there  must  be  vigilance.  This  cabin  was  no  hiding- 
place.  The  rain  fell  harder  all  the  time,  and  the 
wind  changed  to  the  north.  “It’s  a norther,  all 
right,”  muttered  Duane.  “Two  or  three  days.” 
And  he  felt  that  his  extraordinary  luck  had  not  held 
out.  Still  one  point  favored  him,  and  it  was  that 
travelers  were  not  likely  to  come  along  during  the 
storm. 

Jennie  slept  while  Duane  watched.  The  saving 
of  this  girl  meant  more  to  him  than  any  task  he  had 
ever  assumed.  First  it  had  been  partly  from  a 
human  feeling  to  succor  an  unfortunate  woman,  and 
partly  a motive  to  establish  clearly  to  himself  that 
he  was  no  outlaw.  Lately,  however,  had  come  a 
different  sense,  a strange  one,  with  something  per- 
sonal and  warm  and  protective  in  it. 

As  he  looked  down  upon  her,  a slight,  slender  girl 
with  bedraggled  dress  and  disheveled  hair,  her  face, 
pale  and  quiet,  a little  stern  in  sleep,  and  her  long, 
dark  lashes  lying  on  her  cheek,  he  seemed  to  see  her 
fragility,  her  prettiness,  her  femininity  as  never  be- 
fore. But  for  him  she  might  at  that  very  moment 
have  been  a broken,  ruined  girl  lying  back  in  that 

129 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


cabin  of  the  Blands’.  The  fact  gave  him  a feeling 
of  his  importance  in  this  shifting  of  her  destiny. 
She  was  unharmed,  still  young;  she  would  forget 
and  be  happy ; she  would  live  to  be  a good  wife  and 
mother.  Somehow  the  thought  swelled  his  heart. 
His  act,  death-dealing  as  it  had  been,  was  a noble 
one,  and  helped  him  to  hold  on  to  his  drifting  hopes. 
Hardly  once  since  Jennie  had  entered  into  his  thought 
had  those  ghosts  returned  to  torment  him. 

To-morrow  she  would  be  gone  among  good,  kind 
people  with  a possibility  of  finding  her  relatives. 
He  thanked  God  for  that;  nevertheless,  he  felt  a 
pang. 

She  slept  more  than  half  the  day.  Duane  kept 
guard,  always  alert,  whether  he  was  sitting,  standing, 
or  walking.  The  rain  pattered  steadily  on  the  roof 
and  sometimes  came  in  gusty  flurries  through  the 
door.  The  horses  were  outside  in  a shed  that  af- 
forded poor  shelter,  and  they  stamped  restlessly. 
Duane  kept  them  saddled  and  bridled. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  Jennie  awoke. 
They  cooked  a meal  and  afterward  sat  beside  the 
little  fire.  She  had  never  been,  in  his  observation 
of  her,  anything  but  a tragic  figure,  an  unhappy  girl, 
the  farthest  removed  from  serenity  and  poise.  That 
characteristic  capacity  for  agitation  struck  him  as 
stronger  in  her  this  day.  He  attributed  it,  however, 
to  the  long  strain,  the  suspense  nearing  an  end. 
Yet  sometimes  when  her  eyes  were  on  him  she  did 
not  seem  to  be  thinking  of  her  freedom,  of  her  future. 

“This  time  to-morrow  you’ll  be  in  Shelby ville,” 
he  said. 

“Where  will  you  be?”  she  asked,  quickly. 

130 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“Me?  Oh,  I’ll  be  making  tracks  for  some  lone- 
some place,”  he  replied. 

The  girl  shuddered. 

“I’ve  been  brought  up  in  Texas.  I remember 
what  a hard  lot  the  men  of  my  family  had.  But 
poor  as  they  were,  they  had  a roof  over  their  heads, 
a hearth  with  a fire,  a warm  bed — somebody  to  love 
them.  And  you,  Duane — oh,  my  God!  What  must 
your  life  be?  You  must  ride  and  hide  and  watch 
eternally.  No  decent  food,  no  pillow,  no  friendly 
word,  no  clean  clothes,  no  woman’s  hand!  Horses, 
guns,  trails,  rocks,  holes — these  must  be  the  im- 
portant things  in  your  life.  You  must  go  on  riding, 
hiding,  killing  until  you  meet — ” 

She  ended  with  a sob  and  dropped  her  head  on  her 
knees.  Duane  was  amazed,  deeply  touched. 

“My  girl,  thank  you  for  that  thought  of  me,”  he 
said,  with  a tremor  in  his  voice.  “You  don’t  know 
how  much  that  means  to  me.” 

She  raised  her  face,  and  it  was  tear-stained,  elo- 
quent, beautiful. 

“I’ve  heard  tell — the  best  of  men  go  to  the  bad 
out  there.  You  won’t.  Promise  me  you  won’t.  I 
never — knew  any  man — like  you.  I — I — we  may 
never  see  each  other  again — after  to-day.  I’ll  never 
forget  you.  I’ll  pray  for  you,  and  I’ll  never  give 
up  trying  to — to  do  something.  Don’t  despair. 
It’s  never  too  late.  It  was  my  hope  that  kept  me 
alive — out  there  at  Bland’s — before  you  came.  I 
was  only  a poor  weak  girl.  But  if  I could  hope — 
so  can  you.  Stay  away  from  men.  Be  a lone  wolf. 
Fight  for  your  life.  Stick  out  your  exile — and  may- 
be— some  day — ” 

131 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Then  she  lost  her  voice.  Duane  clasped  her  hand 
and  with  feeling  as  deep  as  hers  promised  to  remem- 
ber her  words.  In  her  despair  for  him  she  had  spoken 
wisdom — pointed  out  the  only  course. 

Duane's  vigilance,  momentarily  broken  by  emo- 
tion, had  no  sooner  reasserted  itself  than  he  dis- 
covered the  bay  horse,  the  one  Jennie  rode,  had 
broken  his  halter  and  gone  off.  The  soft  wet  earth 
had  deadened  the  sound  of  his  hoofs.  His  tracks  were 
plain  in  the  mud.  There  were  clumps  of  mesquite 
in  sight,  among  which  the  horse  might  have  strayed. 
It  turned  out,  however,  that  he  had  not  done  so. 

Duane  did  not  want  to  leave  Jennie  alone  in  the 
cabin  so  near  the  road.  So  he  put  her  up  on  his  horse 
and  bade  her  follow.  The  rain  had  ceased  for  the 
time  being,  though  evidently  the  storm  was  not  yet 
over.  The  tracks  led  up  a wash  to  a wide  flat  where 
mesquite,  prickly  pear,  and  thorn -bush  grew  so 
thickly  that  Jennie  could  not  ride  into  it.  Duane 
was  thoroughly  concerned.,  He  must  have  her 
horse.  Time  was  flying.  It  would  soon  be  night. 
He  could  not  expect  her  to  scramble  quickly  through 
that  brake  on  foot.  Therefore  he  decided  to  risk 
leaving  her  at  the  edge  of  the  thicket  and  go  in  alone. 

As  he  went  in  a sound  startled  him.  Was  it  the 
breaking  of  a branch  he  had  stepped  on  or  thrust 
aside?  He  heard  the  impatient  pound  of  his  horse’s 
hoofs.  Then  all  was  quiet.  Still  he  listened,  not 
wholly  satisfied.  He  was  never  satisfied  in  regard 
to  safety;  he  knew  too  well  that  there  never  could 
be  safety  for  him  in  this  country. 

The  bay  horse  had  threaded  the  aisles  of  the 
thicket.  Duane  wondered  what  ha,  \ Irawn  him 

132 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


there.  Certainly  it  had  not  been  grass,  for  there 
was  none.  Presently  he  heard  the  horse  tramping 
along,  and  then  he  ran.  The  mud  was  deep,  and  the 
sharp  thorns  made  going  difficult.  He  came  up 
with  the  horse,  and  at  the  same  moment  crossed  a 
multitude  of  fresh  horse-tracks. 

He  bent  lower  to  examine  them,  and  was  alarmed 
to  find  that  they  had  been  made  very  recently,  even 
since  it  had  ceased  raining.  They  were  tracks  of 
well-shod  horses.  Duane  straightened  up  with  a 
cautious  glance  all  around.  His  instant  decision  was 
to  hurry  back  to  Jennie.  But  he  had  come  a goodly 
way  through  the  thicket,  and  it  was  impossible  to 
rush  back.  Once  or  twice  he  imagined  he  heard 
crashings  in  the  brush,  but  did  not  halt  to  make  sure. 
Certain  he  was  now  that  some  kind  of  danger 
threatened. 

Suddenly  there  came  an  unmistakable  thump  of 
horses’  hoofs  off  somewhere  to  the  fore.  Then  a 
scream  rent  the  air.  It  ended  abruptly.  Duane 
leaped  forward,  tore  his  way  through  the  thorny 
brake.  He  heard  Jennie  cry  again — an  appealing 
call  quickly  hushed.  It  seemed  more  to  his  right, 
and  he  plunged  that  way.  He  burst  into  a glade 
where  a smoldering  fire  and  ground  covered  with 
footprints  and  tracks  showed  that  campers  had  late- 
ly been.  Rushing  across  this,  he  broke  his  passage 
out  to  the  open.  But  he  was  too  late.  His  horse  had 
disappeared.  Jennie  was  gone.  There  were  no  riders 
in  sight.  There  was  no  sound.  There  was  a heavy 
trail  of  horses  going  north.  Jennie  had  been  carried 
off — probably  by  outlaws.  Duane  realized  that  pur- 
suit was  out  of  the  question — that  Jennie  was  lost. 

r33 


CHAPTER  X 


A HUNDRED  miles  from  the  haunts  most  familiar 
with  Duane’s  deeds,  far  up  where  the  Nueces 
ran  a trickling  clear  stream  between  yellow  cliffs, 
stood  a small  deserted  shack  of  covered  mesquite 
poles.  It  had  been  made  long  ago,  but  was  well 
preserved.  A door  faced  the  overgrown  trail,  and 
another  faced  down  into  a gorge  of  dense  thickets. 
On  the  border  fugitives  from  law  and  men  who  hid 
in  fear  of  some  one  they  had  wronged  never  lived  in 
houses  with  only  one  door. 

It  Vvas  a wild  spot,  lonely,  not  fit  for  human  habi- 
tation except  for  the  outcast.  He,  perhaps,  might 
have  found  it  hard  to  leave  for  most  of  the  other 
wild  nooks  in  that  barren  country.  Down  in  the 
gorge  there  was  never-failing  sweet  water,  grass  all 
the  year  round,  cool,  shady  retreats,  deer,  rabbits, 
turkeys,  fruit,  and  miles  and  miles  of  narrow-twist- 
ing, deep  canon  full  of  broken  rocks  and  impene- 
trable thickets.  The  scream  of  the  panther  was 
heard  there,  the  squall  of  the  wildcat,  the  cough  of 
the  jaguar.  Innumerable  bees  buzzed  in  the  spring 
blossoms,  and,  it  seemed,  scattered  honey  to  the  winds. 
All  day  there  was  continuous  song  of  birds,  that  of 
the  mocking-bird  loud  and  sweet  and  mocking  above 
the  rest. 

On  clear  days — and  rare  indeed  were  dowdy  days 

i34 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


— with  the  subsiding  of  the  wind,  at  sunset  a hush 
seemed  to  fall  around  the  little  hut.  Par-distant 
dim-blue  mountains  stood  gold-rimmed  gradually 
to  fade  with  the  shading  of  light. 

At  this  quiet  hour  a man  climbed  up  out  of  the 
gorge  and  sat  in  the  westward  door  of  the  hut.  This 
lonely  watcher  of  the  west  and  listener  to  the  silence 
was  Duane.  And  this  hut  was  the  one  where,  three 
years  before,  Jennie  had  nursed  him  back  to  life. 

The  killing  of  a man  named  Sellers,  and  the  com- 
bination of  circumstances  that  had  made  the  trag- 
edy a memorable  regret,  had  marked,  if  not  a change, 
at  least  a cessation  in  Duane’s  activities.  He  had 
trailed  Sellers  to  kill  him  for  the  supposed  abduct- 
ing of  Jennie.  He  had  trailed  him  long  after  he  had 
learned  Sellers  traveled  alone.  Duane  wanted  abso- 
lute assurance  of  Jennie’s  death.  Vague  rumors,  a 
few  words  here  and  there,  unauthenticated  stories, 
were  all  Duane  had  gathered  in  years  to  substantiate 
his  belief — that  Jennie  died  shortly  after  the  begin- 
ning of  her  second  captivity.  But  Duane  did  not 
know  . Jy.  Sellers  might  have  told  him.  Duane 
expected,  if  not  to  force  it  from  him  at  the  end,  to 
read  it  in  his  eyes.  But  the  bullet  went  too  un- 
erringly; it  locked  his  Y,  >s  and  fixed  his  eyes. 

After  that  meeting  Duane  lay  long  at  the  ranch- 
house  of  a friend,  and  when  he  recovered  from  the 
wound  Sellers  had  given  him  he  started  with  two 
horses  and  a pack  for.  the  lonely  gorge  on  the  Nueces. 
There  he  had  been  hidden  for  months,  a prey  to 
remorse,  a dreamer,  a victim  of  phantoms. 

It  took  work  for  him  to  find  subsistence  in  that 
rocky  fastness.  And  work,  action,  helped  to  pass  the 

i33 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


hours.  But  he  could  not  work  all  the  time,  even  if 
he  had  found  it  to  do.  Then  in  his  idle  moments 
and  at  night  his  task  was  to  live  with  the  hell  in 
his  mind. 

The  sunset  and  the  twilight  hour  made  all  the  rest 
bearable.  The  little  hut  on 'the  rim  of  the  gorge 
seemed  to  hold  Jennie’s  presence.  It  was  not  as 
if  he  felt  her  spirit.  If  it  had  been  he  "would  have 
been  sure  of  her  death.  He  hoped  Jennie  had  not 
survived  her  second  misfortune;  and  that  intense 
hope  had  burned  into  belief,  if  not  surety.  Upon 
his  return  to  that  locality,  on  the  occasion  of  his  first 
visit  to  the  hut,  he  had  found  things  just  as  they 
had  left  them,  and  a poor,  faded  piece  of  ribbon 
Jennie  had  used  to  tie  around  her  bright  hair.  No 
wandering  outlaw  or  traveler  had  happened  upon 
the  lonely  spot,  which  further  endeared  it  to  Duane. 

A .strange  feature  of  this  memory  of  Jennie  was  the 
freshness  of  it — the  failure  of  years,  toil,  strife,  death- 
dealing to  dim  it — to  deaden  the  thought  of  what 
might  have  been.  He  had  a marvelous  gift  of  vis- 
ualization. He  could  shut  his  eyes  and  ^ Jennie 
before  him  just  as  clearly  as  if  she  had  stood  there 
in  the  flesh.  For  hours  he  did  that,  dreaming, 
dreaming  of  life  he  had  never  tasted  and  now  nev- 
er would  taste.  He  saw  Jennie’s  slender,  graceful 
figure,  the  old  brown  ragged  dress  in  which  he  had 
seen  her  first  at  Bland’s,  her  little  feet  in  Mexican 
sandals,  her  fine  hands  coarsened  by  work,  her  round 
arms  and  swelling  throat,  and  her  pale,  sad,  beauti- 
ful face  with  its  staring  dark  eyes.  He  remembered 
every  look  she  had  given  him,  every  word  she  had 
spoken  to  him,  every  time  she  had  touched  him. 

136 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


He  thought  of  her  beauty  and  sweetness,  of  the  few 
things  which  had  come  to  mean  to  him  that  she 
must  have  loved  him;  and  he  trained  himself  to 
think  of  these  in  preference  to  her  life  at  Bland’s, 
the  escape  with  him,  and  then  her  recapture,  because 
such  memories  led  to  bitter,  fruitless  pain.  He  had 
to  fight  suffering  because  it  was  eating  out  his  heart. 

Sitting  there,  eyes  wide  open,  he  dreamed  of  the 
old  homestead  and  his  white-haired  mother.  He 
saw  the  old  home  life,  sweetened  and  filled  by  dear 
new  faces  and  added  joys,  go  on  before  his  eyes  with 
him  a part  of  it. 

Then  in  the  inevitable  reaction,  in  the  reflux  of 
bitter  reality,  he  would  send  out  a voiceless  cry  no 
less  poignant  because  it  was  silent:  “Poor  fools 
No,  I shall  never  see  mother  again — never  go  home 
— never  have  a home.  I am  Duane,  the  Lone  Wolf! 
Oh,  God!  I wish  it  were  over!  These  dreams  tor- 
ture me  ! What  have  I to  do  with  a mother,  a home, 
a wife?  No  bright-haired  boy,  no  dark-eyed  girl 
will  ever  love  me.  I am  an  outlaw/,  an  outcast, 
dead  to  the  good  and  decent  world.  I am  alone — 
alone.  Better  be  a callous  brute  or  better  dead! 
I shall  go  mad  thinking!  Man,  what  is  left  to  you? 
A hiding-place  like  a wolf’s  — lonely  silent  days, 
lonely  nights  with  phantoms’  Or  the  trail  and  the 
road  with  their  bloody  tracks,  and  then  the  hard 
ride,  the  sleepless,  hungry  ride  to  some  hole  in  rocks 
or  brakes.  What  hellish  thing  drives  me?  Why 
can’t  I end  it  all?  What  is  left?  Only  that  damned 
unquenchable  spirit  of  the  gun-fighter  to  live — to 
hang  on  to  miserable  life — to  have  no  fear  of  death, 
yet  to  cling  like  a leach — to  die  as  gun-fighters  sel- 

i37 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


dom  die,  with  boots  off!  Bain,  you  were  first,  and 
you’re  long  avenged.  I’d  change  with  you.  And 
Sellers,  you  were  last,  and  you’re  avenged.  And 
you  others — you’re  avenged.  Lie  quiet  in  your 
graves  and  give  me  peace!” 

But  they  did  not  lie  quiet  in  their  graves  and  give 
him  peace. 

A group  of  specters  trooped  out  of  the  shadows  of 
dusk  and,  gathering  round  him,  escorted  him  to  his 

bed. 

When  Duane  had  been  riding  the  trails  passion- 
bent  to  escape  pursuers,  or  passion-bent  in  his 
search,  the  constant  action  and  toil  and  exhaustion 
made  him  sleep.  But  when  in  hiding,  as  time  passed, 
gradually  he  required  less  rest  and  sleep,  and  his 
mind  became  more  active.  Little  by  little  his 
phantoms  gained  hold  on  him,  and  at  length,  but 
for  the  saving  power  of  his  dreams,  they  would  have 
claimed  him  utterly. 

How  many  times  he  had  said  to  himself:  “I  am 
an  intelligent  man.  I’m  not  crazy.  I’m  in  full 
possession  of  my  faculties.  All  this  is  fancy— imag- 
ination— conscience.  I’ve  no  work,  no  duty,  no 
ideal,  no  hope — and  my  mind  is  obsessed,  thronged 
with  images.  And  these  images  naturally  are  of  the 
men  with  whom  I have  dealt.  I can’t  forget  them. 
They  come  back  to  me,  hour  after  hour ; and  when 
my  tortured  mind  grows  weak,  then  maybe  I’m  not 
just  right  till  the  mood  wears  out  and  lets  me  sleep.” 

So  he  reasoned  as  he  lay  down  in  his  comfortable 
camp.  The  night  was  star-bright  above  the  canon- 
walls,  darkly  shadowing  down  between  them.  The 
insects  hummed  and  chirped  and  thrummed  a con- 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


tinuous  thick  song,  low  and  monotonous.  Slow- 
running  water  splashed  softly  over  stones  in  the 
stream-bed.  From  far  down  the  canon  came  the 
mournful  hoot  of  an  owl.  The  moment  he  lay  down, 
thereby  giving  up  action  for  the  day,  all  these  things 
weighed  upon  him  like  a great  heavy  mantle  of  lone- 
liness. In  truth,  they  did  not  constitute  loneliness. 

And  he  could  no  more  have  dispelled  thought  than 
he  could  have  reached  out  to  touch  a cold,  bright  star. 

He  wondered  how  many  outcasts  Hire  him  lay 
under  this  star-studded,  velvety  sky  across  the  fifteen 
hundred  miles  of  wild  country  between  El  Paso  and 
the  mouth  of  the  river.  A vast  wild  territory — a 
refuge  for  outlaws!  Somewhere  he  had  heard  or 
read  that  the  Texas  Rangers  kept  a book  with  names 
and  records  of  outlaws — three  thousand  known  out- 
laws! Yet  these  could  scarcely  be  half  of  that  un- 
fortunate horde  which  had  been  recruited  from  all 
over  the  states.  Duane  had  traveled  from  camp 
to  camp,  den  to  den,  hiding-place  to  hiding-place, 
and  he  knew  these  men.  Most  of  them  were  hope- 
less criminals;  some  were  avengers;  a few  were 
wronged  wanderers;  and  among  them  occasionally 
was  a man,  human  in  his  war,  honest  as  he  could 
be,  not  yet  lost  to  good. 

But  all  of  them  were  akin  in  one  sense — their  out- 
lawry; and  that  starry  night  they  lay  with  their 
dark  faces  up,  some  in  packs  like  wolves,  others  alone 
like  the  gray  wolf  who  knew  no  mate.  It  did  not 
make  much  difference  in  Duane’s  thought  of  them 
that  the  majority  were  steeped  in  crime  and  brutality, 
more  often  than  not  stupid  from  rum,  incapable  of 
a fine  feeling,  just  lost  wild  dogs. 

139 


to 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Duane  doubted  that  there  was  a man  among  them 
who  did  not  realize  his  moral  wreck  and  ruin.  He 
had  met  poor,  half-witted  wretches  who  knew  it. 
He  believed  he  could  enter  into  their  minds  and 
feel  the  truth  of  all  their  lives — the  hardened  out- 
law, coarse,  ignorant,  bestial,  who  murdered  as  Bill 
Black  had  murdered,  who  stole  for  the  sake  of  steal- 
ing, who  craved  money  to  gamble  and  drink,  de- 
fiantly ready  for  death,  and,  like  that  terrible  out- 
law, Helm,  who  cried  out  on  the  scaffold,  “Let  her 
rip!” 

The  wild  youngsters  seeking  notoriety  and  reck- 
less adventure;  the  cowboys  with  a notch  on  their 
guns,  with  boastful  pride  in  the  knowledge  that  they 
were  marked  by  rangers;  the  crooked  men  from  the 
North,  defaulters,  forgers,  murderers,  all  pale-faced, 
fiat-chested  men  not  fit  for  that  wilderness  and  not 
surviving;  the  dishonest  cattlemen,  hand  and  glove 
with  outlaws,  driven  from  their  homes ; the  old  griz- 
zled, bow-legged  genuine  rustlers — all  these  Duane 
had  come  in  contact  with,  had  watched  and  known, 
and  as  he  felt  with  them  he  seemed  to  see  that  as 
their  lives  were  bad,  sooner  or  later  to  end  dismally 
or  tragically,  so  they  must  pay  some  kind  of  earthly 
penalty — if  not  of  conscience,  then  of  fear;  if  not  of 
fear,  then  of  that  most  terrible  of  all  things  to  rest- 
less, active  men — pain,  the  pang  of  flesh  and  bone. 

Duane  knew,  for  he  had  seen  them  pay.  Best  of 
all,  moreover,  he  knew  the  internal  life  of  the  gun- 
fighter  of  that  select  but  by  no  means  small  class 
of  which  he  was  representative.  The  world  that 
judged  him  and  his  land  judged  him  as  a machine, 
a killing-machine,  with  only  mind  enough  to  hunt, 

I AO 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


to  meet,  to  slay  another  man.  It  had  taken  three 
endless  years  for  Duane  to  understand  his  own 
father.  Duane  knew  beyond  all  doubt  that  the 
gun-fighters  like  Bland,  like  Alloway,  like  Sellers, 
men  who  were  evil  and  had  no  remorse,  no  spiritual 
accusing  Nemesis,  had  something  far  more  torturing 
to  mind,  more  haunting,  more  murderous  of  rest  and 
sleep  and  peace;  and  that  something  was  abnormal 
fear  of  death.  Duane  knew  this,  for  he  had  shot 
these  men;  he  had  seen  the  quick,  dark  shadow  in 
eyes,  the  presentiment  that  the  will  could  not  con- 
trol, and  then  the  horrible  certainty.  These  men 
must  have  been  in  agony  at  every  meeting  with  a 
possible  or  certain  foe — more  agony  than  the  hot 
rend  of  a bullet.  They  were  haunted,  too,  haunted 
by  this  fear,  by  every  victim  calling  from  the  grave 
that  nothing  was  so  inevitable  as  death,  which  lurked 
behind  every  corner,  hid  in  every  shadow,  lay  deep 
in  the  dark  tube  of  every  gun.  These  men  could  not 
have  a friend ; they  could  not  love  or  trust  a woman. 
They  knew  their  one  chance  of  holding  on  to  life 
lay  in  their  own  distrust,  watchfulness,  dexterity, 
and  that  hope,  by  the  very  nature  of  their  lives, 
could  not  be  lasting.  They  had  doomed  themselves. 
What,  then,  could  possibly  have  dwelt  in  the  depths 
of  their  minds  as  they  went  to  their  beds  on  a starry 
night  like  this,  with  mystery  in  silence  and  shadow, 
with  time  passing  surely,  and  the  dark  future  and 
its  secret  approaching  every  hour — what,  then,  but 
hell? 

The  hell  in  Duane’s  mind  was  not  fear  of  man  or 
fear  of  death.  He  would  have  been  glad  to  lay  down 
the  burden  of  life,  providing  death  came  naturally. 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Many  times  he  had  prayed  for  it.  But  that  over- 
developed, superhuman  spirit  of  defense  in  him  pre- 
cluded suicide  or  the  inviting  of  an  enemy’s  bullet. 
Sometimes  he  had  a vague,  scarcely  analyzed  idea 
that  this  spirit  was  what  had  made  the  Southwest 
habitable  for  the  white  man. 

Every  one  of  his  victims,  singly  and  collectively, 
returned  to  him  for  ever,  it  seemed,  in  cold,  passion- 
less, accusing  domination  of  these  haunted  hours. 
They  did  not  accuse  him  of  dishonor  or  cowardice 
or  brutality  or  murder;  they  only  accused  him  of 
Death.  Pt  was  as  if  they  knew  more  than  when 
they  were  alive,  had  learned  that  life  was  a divine 
mysterious  gift  not  to  be  taken.  They  thronged 
about  him  with  their  voiceless  clamoring,  drifted 
around  him  with  their  fading  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XI 


AFTER  nearly  six  months  in  the  Nueces  gorge 
rx  the  loneliness  and  inaction  of  his  life  drove 
Duane  out  upon  the  trails  seeking  anything  rather 
than  to  hide  longer  alone,  a prey  to  the  scourge  of 
his  thoughts.  The  moment  he  rode  into  sight  of 
men  a remarkable  transformation  occurred  in  him. 
A strange  warmth  stirred  in  him — a longing  to  see 
the  faces  of  people,  to  hear  their  voices — a pleasur- 
able emotion  sad  and  strange.  But  it  was  only  a 
precursor  of  his  old  bitter,  sleepless,  and  eternal 
vigilance.  When  he  hid  alone  in  the  brakes  he  was 
safe  from,  all  except  his  deeper,  better  self;  when  he 
escaped  from  this  into  the  haunts  of  men  his  force 
and  will  went  to  the  preservation  of  his  life. 

Mercer  was  the  first  village  he  rode  into.  He  had 
many  friends  there.  Mercer  claimed  to  owe  Duane 
a debt.  On  the  outskirts  of  the  village  there  was  a 
grave  overgrown  by  brush  so  that  the  rude-lettered 
post  which  marked  it  was  scarcely  visible  to  Duane 
as  he  rode  by.  He  had  never  read  the  inscription. 
But  he  thought  now  of  Hardin,  no  other  than  the 
erstwhile  ally  of  Bland.  For  many  years  Hardin 
had  harassed  the  stockmen  and  ranchers  in  and 
around  Mercer.  On  an  evil  day  for  him  he  or  his 
outlaws  had  beaten  and  robbed  a man  who  once 
succored  Duane  when  sore  in  need.  Duane  met 

143 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Hardin  in  the  little  plaza  of  the  village,  called  him 
every  name  known  to  border  men,  taunted  him  to 
draw,  and  killed  him  in  the  act. 

Duane  went  to  the  house  of  one  Jones,  a Texan 
who  had  known  his  father,  and  there  he  was  warmly 
received.  The  feel  of  an  honest  hand,  the  voice  of 
a friend,  the  prattle  of  children  who  were  not  afraid 
of  him  or  his  gun,  good  wholesome  food,  and  change 
of  clothes — these  things  for  the  time  being  made 
a changed  man  of  Duane.  To  be  sure,  he  did  not 
often  speak.  The  price  of  his  head  and  the  weight  of 
his  burden  made  him  silent.  But  eagerly  he  drank 
in  all  the  news  that  was  told  him.  In  the  years  of 
his  absence  from  home  he  had  never  heard  a word 
about  his  mother  or  uncle.  Those  who  were  his  real 
friends  on  the  border  would  have  been  the  last  to 
make  inquiries,  to  write  or  receive  letters  that  might 
give  a clue  to  Duane’s  whereabouts. 

Duane  remained  all  day  with  this  hospitable 
Jones,  and  as  twilight  fell  was  loath  to  go  and  yield- 
ed to  a pressing  invitation  to  remain  overnight.  It 
was  seldom  indeed  that  Duane  slept  under  a roof. 
Early  in  the  evening,  while  Duane  sat  on  the  porch 
with  two  awed  and  hero-worshiping  sons  of  the  house, 
Jones  returned  from  a quick  visit  down  to  the  post- 
office.  Summarily  he  sent  the  boys  off.  He  labored 
under  intense  excitement. 

“Duane,  there’s  rangers  in  town,”  he  whispered. 
“It’s  all  over  town,  too,  that  you’re  here.  You  rode 
in  long  after  sunup.  Lots  of  people  saw  you.  I don’t 
believe  there’s  a man  or  boy  that ’d  squeal  on  you. 
But  the  women  might.  They  gossip,  and  these  ran- 
gers are  handsome  fellows — devils  with  the  -women.” 

144 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“What  company  of  rangers?”  asked  Duane 
quietly. 

“Company  A,  tinder  Captain  MacNelly,  that  new 
ranger.  He  made  a big  name  in  the  war.  And 
since  he’s  been  in  the  ranger  service  he’s  done  won- 
ders. He’s  cleaned  up  some  bad  places  south,  and 
he’s  working  north.” 

“MacNelly.  I’ve  heard  of  him.  Describe  him 
to  me.” 

“Slight-built  chap,  but  wiry  and  tough.  Clean 
face,  black  mustache  and  hair.  Sharp  black  eyes. 
He’s  got  a look  of  authority.  MacNelly ’s  a fine 
man,  Duane.  Belongs  to  a good  Southern  family. 
I’d  hate  to  have  him  look  you  up.” 

Duane  did  not  speak. 

“ MacNelly ’s  got  nerve,  and  his  rangers  are  all 
experienced  men.  If  they  find  out  you’re  here 
they’ll  come  after  you.  MacNelly’s  no  gun-fighter, 
but  he  wouldn’t  hesitate  to  do  his  duty,  even  if  he 
faced  sure  death.  Which  he  would  in  this  case. 
Duane,  you  mustn’t  meet  Captain  MacNelly.  Your 
record  is  clean,  if  it  is  terrible.  You  never  met  a 
ranger  or  any  officer  except  a rotten  sheriff  now  and 
then,  like  Rod  Brown.” 

Still  Duane  kept  silence.  He  was  not  thinking  of 
danger,  but  of  the  fact  of  how  fleeting  must  be  his 
stay  among  friends. 

“Fve  already  fixed  up  a pack  of  grub,”  went  on. 
Jones.  “I’ll  slip  out  to  saddle  your  horse.  You 
watch  here.” 

He  had  scarcely  uttered  the  last  words  when  soft, 
swift  footsteps  sounded  on  the  hard  path.  A man 
turned  in  at  the  gate.  The  light  was  dim,  yet  clean 

US 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


enough  to  disclose  an  unusually  tall  figure.  When 
it  appeared  nearer  he  was  seen  to  be  walking  with 
both  arms  raised,  hands  high.  He  slowed  his  stride. 

“Does  Burt  Jones  live  here?”  he  asked,  in  a low, 
hurried  voice. 

“I  reckon.  I’m  Burt.  What  can  I do  for  you?” 
replied  Jones. 

The  stranger  peered  around,  stealthily  came 
closer,  still  with  his  hands  up. 

“It  is  known  that  Buck  Duane  is  here.  Captain 
MacNellv’s  camping  on  the  river  just  out  of  town. 
He  sends  word  to  Duane  to  come  out  there  after 
dark.” 

The  stranger  wheeled  and  departed  as  swiftly  and 
strangely  as  he  had  come. 

“Bust  me!  Duane,  whatever  do  you  make  of 
that?”  exclaimed  Jones. 

“A  new  one  on  me,”  replied  Duane,  thoughtfully. 

“First  fool  thing  I ever  heard  of  MacNelly  doing. 
Can’t  make  head  nor  tails  of  it.  I’d  have  said  off- 
hand that  MacNelly  wouldn’t  double-cross  anybody. 
He  struck  me  as  a square  man,  sand  all  through. 
But,  hell ! he  must  mean  treachery.  I can’t  see  any- 
thing else  in  that  deal.” 

“Maybe  the  Captain  wants  to  give  me  a fail 
chance  to  surrender  without  bloodshed,”  observed 
Duane.  “Pretty  decent  of  him,  if  he  meant  that.” 

‘ ‘ He  invites  you  out  to  his  camp  after  dark.  Some- 
thing strange  about  this,  Duane.  But  MacNelly’s 
a new  man  out  here.  He  does  some  queer  things. 
Perhaps  he’s  getting  a swelled  head.  Well,  whatever 
his  intentions,  his  presence  around  Mercer  is  enough 
for  us.  Duane,  you  hit  the  road  and  put  scone  miles 

146 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


between  you  and  the  amiable  Captain  before  day- 
light. To-morrow  I’ll  go  out  there  and  ask  him 
what  in  the  devil  he  meant.” 

“That  messenger  he  sent — he  was  a ranger,”  said 
Duane. 

‘‘Sure  he  was,  and  a nervy  one!  It  must  have 
taken  sand  to  come  bracing  you  that  way.  Duane, 
the  fellow  didn’t  pack  a gun.  I’ll  swear  to  that. 
Pretty  odd,  this  trick.  But  you  can’t  trust  it.  Hit 
the  road,  Duane.” 

A little  later  a black  horse  with  muffled  hoofs, 
bearing  a tall,  dark  rider  who  peered  keenly  into 
every  shadow,  trotted  down  a pasture  lane  back  of 
Jones’s  house,  turned  into  the  road,  and  then,  break- 
ing into  swifter  gait,  rapidly  left  Mercer  behind. 

Fifteen  or  twenty  miles  out  Duane  drew  rein  in 
a forest  of  mesquite,  dismounted,  and  searched  about 
for  a glade  with  a little  grass.  Here  he  staked  his 
horse  on  a long  lariat;  and,  using  his  saddle  for  a 
pillow,  his  saddle-blanket  for  covering,  he  went  to 
sleep. 

Next  morning  he  was  off  again,  working  south. 
During  the  next  fewr  days  he  paid  brief  visits  to  sev- 
eral villages  that  lay  in  his  path.  And  in  each  some 
one  particular  friend  had  a piece  of  news  to  impart 
that  made  Duane  profoundly  thoughtful.  A ranger 
had  made  a quiet,  unobtrusive  call  upon  these  friends 
and  left  this  message,  “Tell  Buck  Duane  to  ride  into 
Captain  MacNelly’s  camp  some  time  after  night.” 

Duane  concluded,  and  his  friends  all  agreed  with 
him,  that  the  new  ranger’s  main  purpose  in  the 
Nueces  country  was  to  capture  or  kill  Buck  Duane, 
and  that  this  message  was  simply  an  original  and 

147 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


striking  ruse,  the  daring  of  which  might  appeal  to 
certain  outlaws. 

But  it  did  not  appeal  to  Duane.  His  curiosity 
was  aroused;  it  did  not,  however,  tempt  him  to  any 
foolhardy  act.  He  turned  southwest  and  rode  a 
hundred  miles  until  he  again  reached  the  sparsely 
settled  country.  Here  he  heard  no  more  of  rangers. 
It  was  a barren  region  he  had  never  but  once  ridden 
through,  and  that  ride  had  cost  him  dear.  He  had 
been  compelled  to  shoot  his  way  out.  Outlaws  were 
not  in  accord  with  the  few  ranchers  and  their  cow- 
boys who  ranged  there.  He  learned  that  both  out- 
laws and  Mexican  raiders  had  long  been  at  bitter 
enmity  with  these  ranchers.  Being  unfamiliar  with 
roads  and  trails,  Duane  had  pushed  on  into  the  heart 
of  this  district,  when  all  the  time  he  really  believed 
he  was  traveling  around  it.  A rifle-shot  from  a 
ranch-house,  a deliberate  attempt  to  kill  him  be- 
cause he  was  an  unknown  rider  in  those  parts,  dis- 
covered to  Duane  his  mistake;  and  a hard  ride  to 
get  away  persuaded  him  to  return  to  his  old  methods 
of  hiding  by  day  and  traveling  by  night. 

He  got  into  rough  country,  rode  for  three  days 
without  covering  much  ground,  but  believed  that 
he  was  getting  on  safer  territory.  Twice  he  came 
to  a wide  bottom-land  green  with  willow  and  cotton- 
wood and  thick  as  chaparral,  somewhere  through 
the  middle  of  which  ran  a river  he  decided  must  be 
the  lower  Nueces. 

One  evening,  as  he  stole  out  from  a covert  where 
he  had  camped,  he  saw  the  lights  of  a village.  He 
tried  to  pass  it  on  the  left,  but  was  unable  to  because 
the  brakes  of  this  bottom-land  extended  in  almost 

148 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

to  the  outskirts  of  the  village,  and  he  had  to  retrace 
his  steps  and  go  round  to  the  right.  Wire  fences  and 
horses  in  pasture  made  this  a task,  so  it  was  well 
after  midnight  before  he  accomplished  it.  He  made 
ten  miles  or  more  then  by  daylight,  and  after  that 
proceeded  cautiously  along  a road  which  appeared 
to  be  well  worn  from  travel.  He  passed  several 
thickets  where  he  would  have  halted  to  hide  during 
the  day  but  for  the  fact  that  he  had  to  find  water. 

He  was  a long  while  in  coming  to  it,  and  then  there 
was  no  thicket  or  clump  of  mesquite  near  the  water- 
hole  that  would  afford  him  covert.  So  he  kept  on. 

The  country  before  him  was  ridgy  and  began  to 
show  cottonwoods  here  and  there  in  the  hollows  and 
yucca  and  mesquite  on  the  higher  ground.  As  he 
mounted  a ridge  he  noted  that  the  road  made  a 
sharp  turn,  and  he  could  not  see  what  was  beyond 
it.  He  slowed  up  and  was  making  the  turn,  which 
was  down-hill  between  high  banks  of  yellow  clay, 
when  his  mettlesome  horse  heard  something  to 
frighten  him  or  shied  at  something  and  bolted. 

The  few  bounds  he  took  before  Duane’s  iron  arm 
checked  him  were  enough  to  reach  the  curve.  One 
flashing  glance  showed  Duane  the  open  once  more, 
a little  valley  below  with  a wide,  shallow,  rocky 
stream,  a clump  of  cottonwoods  beyond,  a sornbei 
group  of  men  facing  him,  and  two  dark,  limp, 
strangely  grotesque  figures  hanging  from  branches. 

The  sight  was  common  enough  in  southwest 
Texas,  but  Duane  had  never  before  found  himself 
so  unpleasantly  close. 

A hoarse  voice  pealed  out:  “By  hell!  there’s  an- 
other one!” 


149 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“Stranger,  ride  down  an’  account  fer  yourself!” 
yelled  another. 

“Hands  up!” 

“Thet’s  right,  Jack;  don’t  take  no  chances. 
Plug  him!” 

These  remarks  were  so  swiftly  uttered  as  almost 
to  be  continuous.  Duane  was  wheeling  his  horse 
when  a rifle  cracked.  The  bullet  struck  his  left  fore- 
arm and  he  thought  broke  it,  for  he  dropped  the  rein. 
The  frightened  horse  leaped.  Another  bullet  whis- 
tled past  Duane.  Then  the  bend  in  the  road  saved 
him  probably  from  certain  death.  Like  the  wind 
his  fleet  steed  went  down  the  long  hill. 

Duane  was  in  no  hurry  to  look  back.  He  knew 
what  to  expect.  His  chief  concern  of  the  moment 
was  for  his  injured  arm.  He  found  that  the  bones 
were  still  intact ; but  the  wound,  having  been  made 
by  a soft  bullet,  was  an  exceedingly  bad  one.  Blood 
poured  from  it.  Giving  the  horse  his  head,  Duane 
wound  his  scarf  tightly  round  the  holes,  and  with 
teeth  and  hand  tied  it  tightly.  That  done,  he  looked 
back  over  his  shoulder. 

Riders  were  making  the  dust  fly  on  the  hillside 
road.  There  were  more  coming  round  the  cut 
where  the  road  curved.  The  leader  was  perhaps  a 
quarter  of  a mile  back,  and  the  others  strung  out 
behind  him.  Duane  needed  only  one  glance  to  tell 
him  that  they  were  fast  and  hard-riding  cowboys  in 
a land  where  all  riders  were  good.  They  would  not 
have  owned  any  but  strong,  swift  horses.  More- 
over, it  was  a district  where  ranchers  had  suffered 
beyond  all  endurance  the  greed  and  brutality  of 
outlaws.  Duane  had  simply  been  so  unfortunate  as 

ICC 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


to  ran  right  into  a lynching  party  at  a time  of  all 
times  when  any  stranger  would  be  in  danger  and 
any  outlaw  put  to  his  limit  to  escape  with  his  life. 

Duane  did  not  look  back  again  till  he  had  crossed 
the  ridgy  piece  of  ground  and  had  gotten  to  the 
level  road.  He  had  gained  upon  his  pursuers.  When 
he  ascertained  this  he  tried  to  save  his  horse,  to 
check  a little  that  killing  gait.  This  horse  v/as  a 
magnificent  animal,  big,  strong,  fast;  but  his  en- 
durance had  never  been  put  to  a grueling  test.  And 
that  worried  Duane.  His  life  had  made  it  impos- 
sible to  keep  one  horse  very  long  at  a time,  and  this 
one  was  an  unknown  quantity. 

Duane  had  only  one  plan — the  only  plan  possible 
in  this  case — and  that  was  to  make  the  river-bot- 
toms, where  he  might  elude  his  pursuers  in  the  wil- 
low brakes.  Fifteen  miles  or  so  would  bring  him 
to  the  river,  and  this  was  not  a hopeless  distance  for 
any  good  horse  if  not  too  closely  pressed.  Duane 
concluded  presently  that  the  cowboys  behind  were 
losing  a little  in  the  chase  because  they  were  not 
extending  their  horses.  It  was  decidedly  unusual 
for  such  riders  to  save  their  mounts.  Duane  pon- 
dered over  this,  looking  backward  several  times  to 
see  if  their  horses  were  stretched  out.  They  were 
not,  and  the  fact  was  disturbing.  Only  one  reason 
presented  itself  to  Duane’s  conjecturing,  and  it  was 
that  with  him  headed  straight  on  that  road  his  pur- 
suers were  satisfied  not  to  force  the  running.  He 
began  to  hope  and  look  for  a trail  or  a road  turning 
off  to  right  or  left.  There  was  none.  A rough, 
mesqu?  te-dotted  and  yucca-spired  country  extended 
away  on  either  side.  Duane  believed  that  he  would 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


be  4 ompelled  to  take  to  this  hard  going.  One  thing 
was  certain — he  had  to  go  round  the  village.  The 
rive/',  however,  was  on  the  outskirts  of  the  village; 
and  once  in  the  willows,  he  would  be  safe. 

Dust-clouds  far  ahead  caused  his  alarm  to  grow. 
He  watched  with  his  eyes  strained;  he  hoped  to  see 
a wagon,  a few  stray  cattle.  But  no,  he  soon  de- 
scried several  horsemen.  Shots  and  yells  behind 
him  attested  to  the  fact  that  his  pursuers  likewise 
had  seen  these  new-comers  on  the  scene.  More  than 
a mile  separated  these  two  parties,  yet  that  dis- 
tance did  not  keep  them  from  soon  understanding 
each  other.  Duane  waited  only  to  see  this  new 
factor  showr  signs  of  sudden  quick  action,  and  then, 
with  a muttered  curse,  he  spurred  his  horse  off  the 
road  into  the  brush. 

He  chose  the  right  side,  because  the  river  lay  near- 
er that  way.  There  were  patches  of  open  sandy 
ground  between  clumps  of  cactus  and  mesquite, 
and  he  found  that  despite  a zigzag  course  he  made 
better  time.  If  was  impossible  for  him  to  locate  his 
pursuers.  They  would  come  together,  he  decided, 
and  take  to  his  tracks. 

What,  then,  was  his  surprise  and  dismay  to  run 
out  of  a thicket  right  into  a low  ridge  of  rough, 
broken  rock,  impossible  to  get  a horse  over.  He 
wheeled  to  the  left  along  its  base.  The  sandy 
ground  gave  place  to  a harder  soil,  where  his  horse 
did  not  labor  so.  Here  the  growths  of  mesquite 
and  cactus  became  scanter,  affording  better  travel 
but  poor  cover.  He  kept  sharp  eyes  ahead,  and, 
as  he  had  expected,  soon  saw  moving  dust-clouds 
and  the  dark  figures  of  horses.  They  were  half  a 

152 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


mile  away,  and  swinging  obliquely  across  the  flat, 
which  fact  proved  that  they  had  entertained  a fair 
idea  of  the  country  and  the  fugitive’s  difficulty. 

Without  an  instant’s  hesitation  Duane  put  his 
horse  to  his  best  efforts,  straight  ahead.  He  had  to 
pass  those  men.  When  this  was  seemingly  made 
impossible  by  a deep  wash  from  which  he  had  to 
turn,  Duane  began  to  feel  cold  and  sick.  Was  this 
the  end  ? Always  there  had  to  be  an  end  to  an  out- 
law’s career.  He  wanted  then  to  ride  straight  at 
these  pursuers.  But  reason  outweighed  instinct. 
He  was  fleeing  for  his  life;  nevertheless,  the  strong- 
est instinct  at  the  time  was  his  desire  to  fight. 

He  knew  when  these  three  horsemen  saw  him, 
and  a moment  afterward  he  lost  sight  of  them  as 
he  got  into  the  mesquite  again.  He  meant  now  to 
try  to  reach  the  road,  and  pushed  his  mount  severely, 
though  still  saving  him  for  a final  burst.  Rocks, 
thickets,  bunches  of  cactus,  washes — all  operated 
against  his  following  a straight  line.  Almost  he 
lost  his  bearings,  and  finally  would  have  ridden 
toward  his  enemies  had  not  good  fortune  favored 
him  in  the  matter  of  an  open  burned-over  stretch 
of  ground. 

Here  he  saw  both  groups  of  pursuers,  one  on  each 
side  and  almost  within  gunshot.  Their  sharp  yells,, 
as  much  as  his  cruel  spurs,  drove  his  horse  into  that 
pace  which  now  meant  life  or  death  for  him.  And 
never  had  Duane  bestrode  a gamer,  swifter,  stanch- 
er beast.  He  seemed  about  to  accomplish  the  im- 
possible. In  the  dragging  sand  he  was  far  superior 
to  any  horse  in  pursuit,  and  on  this  sandy  open 
stretch  he  gained  enough  to  spare  a little  in  the  brush 

153 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


beyond.  Heated  now  and  thoroughly  terrorized,  he 
kept  the  pace  through  thickets  that  almost  tore 
Duane  from  his  saddle.  Something  weighty  and 
grim  eased  off  Duane.  He  was  going  to  get  out  in 
front!  The  horse  had  speed,  fire,  stamina. 

Duane  dashed  out  into  another  open  place  dotted 
by  few  trees,  and  here,  right  in  his  path,  within  pistol- 
range,  stood  horsemen  waiting.  They  yelled,  they 
spurred  toward  him,  but  did  not  fire  at  him.  He 
turned  his  horse — faced  to  the  right.  Only  one 
thing  kept  him  from  standing  his  ground  to  fight  it 
out.  He  remembered  those  dangling  limp  figures 
hanging  from  the  cottonwoods.  These  ranchers 
would  rather  hang  an  outlaw  than  do  anything. 
They  might  draw  all  his  fire  and  then  capture  him. 
His  horror  of  hanging  was  so  great  as  to  be  all  out 
of  proportion  compared  to  his  gun-fighter’s  instinct 
of  self-preservation. 

A race  began  then,  a dusty,  crashing  drive  through 
gray  mesquite.  Duane  could  scarcely  see,  he  was 
so  blinded  by  stinging  branches  across  his  eyes.  The 
hollow  wind  roared  in  his  ears.  He  lost  his  sense  of 
the  nearness  of  his  pursuers.  But  they  must  have 
been  close.  Did  they  shoot  at  him?  He  imagined 
he  heard  shots.  But  that  might  have  been  the  crack- 
ing of  dead  snags.  His  left  arm  hung  limp,  almost 
useless;  he  handled  the  rein  with  his  right;  and 
most  of  the  time  he  hung  low  over  the  pommel.  The 
gray  walls  flashing  by  him,  the  whip  of  twigs,  the 
rush  of  wind,  the  heavy,  rapid  pound  of  hoofs,  the 
violent  motion  of  his  horse — these  vied  in  sensation 
with  the  smart  of  sweat  in  his  eyes,  the  rack  of  his 
wound  the  cold,  sick  cramp  in  his  stomach.  With 

*54 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

these  also  was  dull,  raging  fury.  He  had  to  run 
when  he  wanted  to  fight.  It  took  all  his  mind  to 
force  back  that  bitter  hate  of  himself,  of  his  pur- 
suers, of  this  race  for  his  useless  life. 

Suddenly  he  burst  out  of  a line  of  mesquifce  into 
the  road.  A long  stretch  of  lonely  road!  How 
fiercely,  with  hot,  strange  joy,  he  wheeled  his  horse 
upon  it!  Then  he  was  sweeping  along,  sure  now  that 
he  was  out  in  front.  His  horse  still  had  strength  and 
speed,  but  showed  signs  of  breaking.  Presently 
Duane  looked  back.  Pursuers — he  could  not  count 
how  many — were  loping  along  in  his  rear.  He  paid 
no  more  attention  to  them,  and  with  teeth  set  he  faced 
ahead,  grimmer  now  in  his  determination  to  foil  them. 

He  passed  a few  scattered  ranch -houses  where 
horses  whistled  from  corrals,  and  men  curiously 
watched  him  fly  past.  He  saw  one  rancher  running, 
and  he  felt  intuitively  that  this  fellow  was  going  to 
join  in  the  chase.  Duane’s  steed  pounded  on,  not 
noticeably  slower,  but  with  a lack  of  former  smooth- 
ness, with  a strained,  convulsive,  jerking  stride  which 
showed  he  was  almost  done. 

Sight  of  the  village  ahead  surprised  Duane.  He 
had  reached  it  sooner  than  he  expected.  Then  he 
made  a discovery — he  had  entered  the  zone  of  wire 
fences.  As  he  dared  not  turn  back  now,  he  kept  on, 
intending  to  ride  through  the  village.  Looking  back- 
ward, he  saw  that  his  pursuers  were  half  a mile  dis- 
tant, too  far  to  alarm  any  villagers  in  time  to  inter- 
cept him  in  his  flight.  As  he  rode  by  the  first  houses 
his  horse  broke  and  began  to  labor.  Duane  did  not 
believe  he  would  last  long  enough  to  go  through 
the  village. 

’i  iS" 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Saddled  horses  in  front  of  a store  gave  Duane  an 
idea,  not  by  any  means  new,  and  one  he  had  carried 
out  successfully  before.  As  he  pulled  in  his  heaving 
mount  and  leaped  off,  a couple  of  ranchers  came  out 
of  the  place,  and  one  of  them  stepped  to  a clean- 
limbed, fiery  bay.  He  was  about  to  get  into  his 
saddle  when  he  saw  Duane,  and  then  he  halted,  a 
foot  in  the  stirrup. 

Duane  strode  forward,  grasped  the  bridle  of  this 

man’s  horse. 

“Mine’s  done — but  not  killed,”  he  panted.  “Trade 

with  me.” 

“Wal,  stranger,  I’m  shore  always  ready  to  trade,” 
drawled  the  man.  “But  ain’t  you  a little  swift?” 

Duane  glanced  back  up  the  road.  His  pursuers 
were  entering  the  village. 

“I’m  Duane — Buck  Duane,”  he  cried,  menacingly. 
“Will  you  trade?  Hurry!” 

The  rancher,  turning  white,  dropped  his  foot  from 
the  stirrup  and  fell  back. 

“I  reckon  I’ll  trade,”  he  said. 

Bounding  up,  Duane  dug  spurs  into  the  bay's 
flanks.  The  horse  snorted  in  fright,  plunged  into 
a run.  He  was  fresh,  swift,  half  wild.  Duane  flashed 
by  the  remaining  houses  on  the  street  out  into  the 
open.  But  the  road  ended  at  that  village  or  else  led 
out  from  some  other  quarter,  for  he  had  ridden 
straight  into  the  fields  and  from  them  into  rough 
desert.  When  he  reached  the  cover  of  mesquite 
once  more  he  looked  back  to  find  six  horsemen  with- 
in rifle-shot  of  him,  and  more  coming  behind  them. 

His  new  horse  had  not  had  time  to  get  warm  be- 
fore Duane  reached  a high  sandy  bluff  below  which 

156 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


lay  the  willow  brakes.  As  far  as  he  could  see  ex- 
tended an  immense  flat  strip  of  red-tinged  willow. 
How  welcome  it  was  to  his  eye ! He  felt  like  a hunted 
wolf  that,  weary  and  lame,  had  reached  his  hole  in 
the  rocks.  Zigzagging  down  the  soft  slope,  he  put 
the  bay  to  the  dense  wall  of  leaf  and  branch.  But 
the  horse  balked. 

There  was  little  time  to  lose.  Dismounting,  he 
dragged  the  stubborn  beast  into  the  thicket.  This 
was  harder  and  slower  work  than  Duane  cared  to 
risk.  If  he  had  not  been  rushed  he  might  have  had 
better  success.  So  he  had  to  abandon  the  horse — 
a circumstance  that  only  such  sore  straits  could 
have  driven  him  to.  Then  he  went  slipping  swiftly 
through  the  narrow  aisles. 

He  had  not  gotten  under  cover  any  too  soon.  For 
he  heard  liis  pursuers  piling  over  the  bluff,  loud- 
voiced,  confident,  brutal.  They  crashed  into  the 
willows. 

“Hi,  Sid ! Heah’s  your  hoss !”  called  one,  evidently 
to  the  man  Duane  had  forced  into  a trade. 

“Say,  if  you  locoed  gents  ’ll  hold  up  a little  I’ll 
tell  you  somethin’,”  replied  a voice  from  the  bluff. 

“Come  on,  Sid!  We  got  him  corralled,”  said  the 
first  speaker. 

“Wal,  mebbe,  an’  if  you  hev  it’s  liable  to  be  damn 
hot.  Thet  feller  was  Buck  Duane!” 

Absolute  silence  followed  that  statement.  Pres- 
ently it  was  broken  by  a rattling  of  loose  gravel  and 
then  low  voices. 

“He  can’t  git  acrost  the  river,  I tell  you,”  came  to 
Duane’s  ears.  “He’s  corralled  in  the  brake.  I know 
thet  hole.” 

1 57 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Then  Duane,  gliding  silently  and  swiftly  through 
the  willows,  heard  no  more  from  his  pursuers.  He 
headed  straight  for  the  river.  Threading  a passage 
through  a willow  brake  was  an  old  task  for  him. 
Many  days  and  nights  had  gone  to  the  acquiring  of 
a skill  that  might  have  been  envied  by  an  Indian. 

The  Rio  Grande  and  its  tributaries  for  the  most 
of  their  length  in  Texas  ran  between  wide,  low,  flat 
lands  covered  by  a dense  growth  of  willow.  Cotton- 
wood, mesquite,  prickly  pear,  and  other  growths 
mingled  with  the  willow,  and  altogether  they  made 
a matted,  tangled  copse,  a thicket  that  an  inex- 
perienced man  would  have  considered  impenetrable. 
From  above,  these  wild  brakes  looked  green  and 
red;  from  the  inside  they  were  gray  and  yellow — 
a striped  wall.  Trails  and  glades  were  scarce.  There 
were  a few  deer  runways  and  sometimes  little  paths 
made  by  peccaries — the  jabali,  or  wild  pigs,  of  Mexico. 
The  ground  was  clay  and  unusually  dry,  sometimes 
baked  so  hard  that  it  left  no  imprint  of  a track. 
Where  a growth  of  cottonwood  had  held  back  the 
encroachment  of  the  willow’s  there  usually  was  thick 
grass  and  underbrush.  The  willows  were  short,  slen- 
der poles  with  stems  so  close  together  that  they  al- 
most touched,  and  with  the  leafy  foliage  forming  a 
thick  covering. 

The  depths  of  this  brake  Duane  had  penetrated 
was  a silent,  dreamy,  strange  place.  In  the  middle 
of  the  day  the  light  was  weird  and  dim.  When  a 
breeze  fluttered  the  foliage,  then  slender  shafts  and 
spears  of  sunshine  pierced  the  green  mantle  and 
danced  like  gold  on  the  ground. 

Duane  had  always  felt  the  strangeness  of  this  kind 
158 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


of  place,  and  likewise  he  had  felt  a protecting,  har- 
boring something  which  always  seemed  to  him  to  be 
the  sympathy  of  the  brake  for  a hunted  creature. 
Any  unwounded  creature,  strong  and  resourceful, 
was  safe  when  he  had  glided  under  the  low,  rustling 
green  roof  of  this  wild  covert.  It  was  not  hard  to 
conceal  tracks;  the  springy  soil  gave  forth  no  sound; 
and  men  could  hunt  each  other  for  weeks,  pass  with- 
in a few  yards  of  each  other  and  never  know  it.  The 
problem  of  sustaining  life  was  difficult;  but,  then, 
hunted  men  and  animals  .survived  on  very  little. 

Duane  wanted  to  cross  the  river  if  that  was  pos- 
sible, and,  keeping  in  the  brake,  work  his  way  up- 
stream till  he  had  reached  country  more  hospitable. 
Remembering  what  the  man  had  said  in  regard  to 
the  river,  Duane  had  his  doubts  about  crossing.  But 
he  would  take  any  chance  to  put  the  river  between 
him  and  his  hunters.  He  pushed  on.  His  left  arm 
had  to  be  favored,  as  he  could  scarcely  move  it.  Using 
his  right  to  spread  the  willows,  he  slipped  sideways 
between  them  and  made  fast  time.  There  were  nar- 
row aisles  and  washes  and  holes  low  down  and  paths 
brushed  by  animals,  all  of  which  he  took  advantage 
of,  running,  walking,  crawling,  stooping  any  way  to 
get  along.  To  keep  in  a straight  line  was  not  easy 
— he  did  it  by  marking  some  bright  sunlit  stem  or 
tree  ahead,  and  when  he  reached  it  looked  straight 
on  to  mark  another.  His  progress  necessarily  grew 
slower,  for  as  he  advanced  the  brake  became  wilder, 
denser,  darker.  Mosquitoes  began  to  whine  about 
his  head.  He  kept  on  without  pause.  Deepening 
shadows  under  the  willows  told  him  that  the  after- 
noon was  far  advanced.  He  began  to  fear  he  had 

159 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


wandered  in  a wrong  direction.  Finally  a strip  of 
light  ahead  relieved  his  anxiety,  and  after  a toilsome 
penetration  of  still  denser  brush  he  broke  through 
to  the  bank  of  the  river. 

He  faced  a wide,  shallow,  muddy  stream  with 
brakes  on  the  opposite  bank  extending  like  a green 
and  yellow  wall.  Duane  perceived  at  a glance  the 
futility  of  his  trying  to  cross  at  this  point.  Every- 
where the  sluggish  water  laved  quicksand  bars.  In 
fact,  the  bed  of  the  river  was  all  quicksand,  and 
very  likely  there  was  not  a foot  of  water  any- 
where. He  could  not  swim ; he  could  not  crawl; 
he  could  not  push  a log  across.  Any  solid  thing 
touching  that  smooth  yellow  sand  would  be  grasped 
and  sucked  down.  To  prove  this  he  seized  a long 
pole  and,  reaching  down  from  the  high  bank,  thrust 
it  into  the  stream.  Right  there  near  shore  there 
apparently  was  no  bottom  to  the  treacherous  quick- 
sand. He  abandoned  any  hope  of  crossing  the 
river.  Probably  for  miles  up  and  down  it  would  be 
just  the  same  as  here.  Before  leaving  the  bank  he 
tied  his  hat  upon  the  pole  and  lifted  enough  water  to 
quench  his  thirst.  Then  he  worked  his  way  back  to 
where  thinner  growth  made  advancement  easier,  and 
kept  on  up-stream  till  the  shadows  were  so  deep 
he  could  not  see.  Feeling  around  for  a place  big 
enough  to  stretch  out  on,  he  lay  down.  For  the  time 
being  he  was  as  safe  there  as  he  would  have  been 
beyond  in  the  Rim  Rock.  He  was  tired,  though  not 
exhausted,  and  in  spite  of  the  throbbing  pain  in  his 
arm  he  dropped  at  once  into  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XII 


SOME  time  during  the  night  Duane  awoke.  A 
stillness  seemingly  so  thick  and  heavy  as  to  have 
substance  blanketed  the  black  willow  brake.  He 
could  not  see  a star  or  a branch  or  tree-trunk  or  even 
his  hand  before  his  eyes.  He  lay  there  waiting,  lis- 
tening, sure  that  he  had  been  awakened  by  an  un- 
usual sound.  Ordinary  noises  of  the  night  in  the 
wilderness  never  disturbed  his  rest.  His  faculties, 
like  those  of  old  fugitives  and  hunted  creatures,  had 
become  trained  to  a marvelous  keenness.  A long 
low  breath  of  slow  wind  moaned  through  the  willows, 
passed  away;  some  stealthy,  soft-footed  beast  trotted 
by  him  in  the  darkness;  there  was  a rustling  among 
dry  leaves;  a fox  barked  lonesomely  in  the  distance. 
But  none  of  these  sounds  had  broken  his  slumber. 

Suddenly,  piercing  the  stillness,  came  a bay  of  a 
bloodhound.  Quickly  Duane  sat  up,  chilled  to  his 
marrow.  The  action  made  him  aware  of  his  crippled 
arm.  Then  came  other  bays,  lower,  more  distant. 
Silence  enfolded  him  again,  all  the  more  oppressive 
and  menacing  in  his  suspense.  Bloodhounds  had 
been  put  on  his  trail,  and  the  leader  was  not  far 
away.  All  his  life  Duane  had  been  familiar  with 
bloodhounds;  and  he  knew  that  if  the  pack  sur- 
rounded him  in  this  impenetrable  darkness  he  would 
be  held  at  bay  or  dragged  down  as  wolves  dragged 

161 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


a stag.  Rising  to  his  feet,  prepared  to  flee  as  best 
he  could,  he  waited  to  be  sure  of  the  direction  he 
should  take. 

The  leader  of  the  hounds  broke  into  cry  again,  a 
deep,  full-toned,  ringing  bay,  strange,  ominous,  ter- 
jribly  significant  in  its  power.  It  caused  a cold  sweat 
to  ooze  out  all  over  Duane’s  body.  He  turned  from 
it,  and  with  his  uninjured  arm  outstretched  to  feel 
for  the  willows  he  groped  his  way  along.  As  it  was 
impossible  to  pick  out  the  narrow  passages,  he  had 
to  slip  and  squeeze  and  plunge  between  the  yielding 
stems.  He  made  such  a crashing  that  he  no  longer 
heard  the  baying  of  the  hounds.  He  had  no  hope  to 
elude  them.  He  meant  to  climb  the  first  cottonwood 
that  he  stumbled  upon  in  his  blind  flight.  But  it 
appeared  he  never  was  going  to  be  lucky  enough  to 
run  against  one.  Often  he  fell,  sometimes  flat,  at 
others  upheld  by  the  willows.  What  made  the  work 
so  hard  was  the  fact  that  he  had  only  one  arm  to 
open  a clump  of  close-growing  stems  and  his  feet 
would  catch  or  tangle  in  the  narrow  crotches,  hold- 
ing him  fast.  He  had  to  struggle  desperately.  It 
was  as  if  the  willows  were  clutching  hands,  his  en- 
emies, fiendishly  impeding  his  progress.  He  tore  his 
clothes  on  sharp  branches  and  his  flesh  suffered  many 
a prick.  But  in  a terrible  earnestness  he  kept  on 
until  he  brought  up  hard  against  a cottonwood  tree. 

There  he  leaned  and  rested.  He  found  himself 
as  nearly  exhausted  as  he  had  ever  been,  wet  wfith 
sweat,  his  hands  tom  and  burning,  his  breast  labor- 
ing, his  legs  stinging  from  innumerable  bruises. 
While  he  leaned  there  to  catch  his  breath  he  listened 
for  the  pursuing  hounds.  For  a long  time  there  was 

162 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


no  sound  from  them.  This,  however,  did  not  de- 
ceive him  into  any  hopefulness.  There  were  blood 
hounds  that  bayed  often  on  a trail,  and  others  that 
ran  mostly  silent.  The  former  were  more  valuable 
to  their  owner  and  the  latter  more  dangerous  to 
the  fugitive.  Presently  Duane’s  ears  were  filled  by 
a chorus  of  short  ringing  yelps.  The  pack  had  found 
where  he  had  slept,  and  now  the  trail  was  hot.  Satis- 
fied that  they  would  soon  overtake  him,  Duane  set 
about  climbing  the  cottonwood,  which  in  his  condi- 
tion was  difficult  of  ascent. 

It  happened  to  be  a fairly  large  tree  with  a fork 
about  fifteen  feet  up,  and  branches  thereafter  in  suc- 
cession. Duane  din  .'red  until  he  got  above  the  en  - 
shrouding belt  of  blackness.  A pale  gray  mist  hung 
above  the  brake,  and  through  it  shone  a line  of  dim 
lights.  Duane  decided  these  were  bonfires  made 
along  the  bluff  to  render  his  escape  more  difficult  on 
that  side.  Away  round  in  the  direction  he  thought 
was  north  he  imagined  he  saw  more  fires,  but,  as  the 
mist  was  thick,  he  could  not  be  sure.  While  he  sat 
there  pondering  the  matter,  listening  for  the  hounds, 
the  mist  and  the  gloom  on  one  side  lightened;  and. 
this  side  he  concluded  was  east  and  meant  that  dawn 
was  near.  Satisfying  himself  on  this  score,  he  de- 
scended to  the  first  branch  of  the  tree. 

His  situation  now,  though  still  critical,  did  not  ap- 
pear to  be  so  hopeless  as  it  had  been.  The  hounds 
would  soon  close  in  on  him,  and  he  would  kill  them 
or  drive  them  away.  It  was  beyond  the  bounds  of 
possibility  that  any  men  could  have  followed  run- 
ning hounds  through  that  brake  in  the  night.  The 
thing  that  worried  Duane  was  the  fact  of  the  bon- 

163 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


fires.  He  had  gathered  from  the  words  of  one  of 
his  pursuers  that  the  brake  was  a kind  of  trap,  and 
he  began  to  believe  there  was  only  one  way  out  of 
it,  and  that  was  along  the  bank  where  he  had  entered, 
and  where  obviously  all  night  long  his  pursuers  had 
kept  fires  burning.  Further  conjecture  on  this  point, 
however,  was  interrupted  by  a crashing  in  the  willows 
and  the  rapid  patter  of  feet. 

Underneath  Duane  lay  a gray,  foggy  obscurity. 
He  could  not  see  the  ground,  nor  any  object  but  the 
black  trunk  of  the  tree.  Sight  would  not  be  needed 
to  tell  him  when  the  pack  arrived.  With  a pattering 
rush  through  the  willows  the  hounds  reached  the 
tree;  and  then  high  above  crash  of  brush  and  thud 
of  heavy  paws  rose  a hideous  clamor.  Duane’s  pur- 
suers far  off  to  the  south  would  hear  that  and  know 
what  it  meant.  And  at  daybreak,  perhaps  before, 
they  would  take  a short  cut  across  the  brake, 
guided  by  the  baying  of  hounds  that  had  treed  their 
quarry. 

It  wanted  only  a few  moments,  however,  till  Duane 
could  distinguish  the  vague  forms  of  the  hounds  in 
the  gray  shadow  below.  Still  he  waited.  He  had 
no  shots  to  spare.  And  he  knew  how  to  treat  blood- 
hounds. Gradually  the  obscurity  lightened,  and  at 
length  Duane  had  good  enough  sight  of  the  hounds 
for  his  purpose.  His  first  shot  killed  the  huge  brute 
leader  of  the  pack.  Then,  with  unerring  shots,  he 
crippled  several  others.  That  stopped  the  baying. 
Piercing  howls  arose.  The  pack  took  fright  and 
fled,  its  course  easily  marked  by  the  howls  of  the 
crippled  members.  Duane  reloaded  his  gun,  and, 
making  certain  all  the  hounds  had  gone,  he  descended 

164 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


to  the  ground  and  set  off  at  a rapid  pace  to  the 
northward. 

The  mist  had  dissolved  under  a rising  sun  when 
Duane  made  his  first  halt  some  miles  north  of  the 
scene  where  he  had  waited  for  the  hounds.  A barrier 
to  further  progress,  in  shape  of  a precipitous  rocky 
bluff,  rose  sheer  from  the  willow  brake.  He  skirted 
the  base  of  the  cliff,  where  walking  was  compara- 
tively easy,  around  in  the  direction  of  the  river.  He 
reached  the  end  finally  to  see  there  was  absolutely 
no  chance  to  escape  from  the  brake  at  that  comer. 
It  took  extreme  labor,  attended  by  some  hazard 
and  considerable  pain  to  his  arm,  to  get  down  where 
he  could  fill  his  sombrero  with  water.  After  quench- 
ing his  thirst  he  had  a look  at  his  wound.  It  was 
caked  over  with  blood  and  dirt.  When  washed  off 
the  arm  was  seen  to  be  inflamed  and  swollen  around 
the  bullet-hole.  He  bathed  it,  experiencing  a sooth- 
ing relief  in  the  cool  water.  Then  he  bandaged  it 
as  best  he  could  and  arranged  a sling  round  his  neck. 
This  mitigated  the  pain  of  the  injured  member  and 
held  it  in  a quiet  and  restful  position,  where  it  had  a 
chance  to  begin  mending. 

As  Duane  turned  away  from  the  river  he  felt  re- 
freshed. His  great  strength  and  endurance  had 
always  made  fatigue  something  almost  unknown 
to  him.  However,  tramping  on  foot  day  and  night 
was  as  unusual  to  him  as  to  any  other  riders  of  the 
Southwest,  and  it  had  begun  to  tell  on  him.  Re- 
tracing his  steps,  he  reached  the  point  where  he  had 
abruptly  come  upon  the  bluff,  and  here  he  deter- 
mined to  follow  along  its  base  in  the  other  direction 

165 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


until  he  found  a way  out  or  discovered  the  futility 

of  such  effort. 

Duane  covered  ground  rapidly.  From  time  to 
time  he  paused  to  listen.  But  he  was  always  listen- 
ing, and  his  eyes  were  ever  roving.  This  alertness 
had  become  second  nature  with  him,  so  that  except 
in  extreme  cases  of  caution  he  performed  it  while 
he  pondered  his  gloomy  and  fateful  situation.  Such 
habit  of  alertness  and  thought  made  time  fly  swiftly. 

By  noon  he  had  rounded  the  wide  curve  of  the 
brake  and  was  facing  south.  The  bluff  had  petered 
out  from  a high,  mountainous  wall  to  a low  abut- 
ment of  rock,  but  it  still  held  to  its  steep,  rough 
nature  and  afforded  no  crack  or  slope  where  quick 
ascent  could  have  been  possible.  He  pushed  on, 
growing  warier  as  he  approached  the  danger-zone, 
finding  that  as  he  neared  the  river  on  this  side  it 
was  imperative  to  go  deeper  into  the  willows.  In 
the  afternoon  he  reached  a point  where  he  could 
see  men  pacing  to  and  fro  on  the  bluff.  This  assured 
him  that  whatever  place  was  guarded  was  one  by 
which  he  might  escape.  He  headed  toward  these 
men  and  approached  to  within  a hundred  paces  of 
the  bluff  where  they  were.  There  were  several  men 
and  several  boys,  all  armed  and,  after  the  manner 
of  Texans,  taking  their  task  leisurely.  Farther  down 
Duane  made  out  black  dots  on  the  horizon  of  the 
bluff -line,  and  these  he  concluded  were  more  guards 
stationed  at  another  outlet.  Probably  all  the  avail- 
able men  in  the  district  were  on  duty.  Texans  took 
a grim  pleasure  in  such  work.  Duane  remembered 
that  upon  several  occasions  he  had  served  such  duty 
himself. 


166 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Duane  peered  through  the  branches  and  studied 
the  lay  of  the  land.  For  several  hundred  yards  the 
bluff  could  be  climbed.  He  took  stock  of  those  care- 
less guards.  They  had  rifles,  and  that  made  vain, 
any  attempt  to  pass  them,  in  daylight.  He  believed 
an  attempt  by  night  might  be  successful;  and  he 
was  swiftly  coming  to  a determination  to  hide  there 
till  dark  and  then  try  it,  when  the  sudden  yelping 
of  a dog  betrayed  him  to  the  guards  on  the  bluff. 

The  dog  had  likely  been  placed  there  to  give  an 
alarm,  and  he  was  lustily  true  to  his  trust.  Duane 
saw  the  men  run  together  and  begin  to  talk  excitedly 
and  peer  into  the  brake,  which  was  a signal  for  him 
to  slip  away  under  the  willows.  He  made  no  noise, 
and  he  assured  himself  he  must  be  invisible.  Never- 
theless, he  heard  shouts,  then  the  cracking  of  rifles, 
and  bullets  began  to  zip  and  swish  through  the  leafy 
covert.  The  day  was  hot  and  windless,  and  Duane 
concluded  that  whenever  he  touched  a willow  stem, 
even  ever  so  slightly,  it  vibrated  to  the  top  and  sent 
a quiver  among  the  leaves.  Through  this  the  guards, 
had  located  his  position.  Once  a bullet  hissed  by 
him;  another  thudded  into  the  ground  before  him. 
This  shooting  loosed  a rage  in  Duane.  He  had  to 
fly  from  these  men,  and  he  hated  them  and  himself 
because  of  it.  Always  in  the  fury  of  such  moments 
he  wanted  to  give  back  shot  for  shot.  But  he  slipped 
on  through  the  willows,  and  at  length  the  rifles 
ceased  to  crack. 

He  sheered  to  the  left  again,  in  line  with  the  rocky 
barrier,  and  kept  on,  wondering  what  the  next  mile 
would  bring. 

It  brought  worse,  for  he  was  seen  by  sharp-eyed 
167 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


scouts,  and  a hot  fusillade  drove  him  to  run  for  his 
life,  luckily  to  escape  with  no  more  than  a bullet- 
creased  shoulder. 

Later  that  day,  still  undaunted,  he  sheered  again 
toward  the  trap-wall,  and  found  that  the  nearer  he 
approached  to  the  place  where  he  had  come  down 
into  the  brake  the  greater  his  danger.  To  attempt 
to  run  the  blockade  of  that  trail  by  day  would  be 
fatal.  He  waited  for  night,  and  after  the  brightness 
of  the  fires  had  somewhat  lessened  he  assayed  to 
creep  out  of  the  brake.- ' He  succeeded  in  reaching 
the  foot  of  the  bluff,  here  only  a bank,  and  had  be- 
gun to  crawl  stealthily  up  under  cover  of  a shadow 
when  a hound  again  betrayed  his  position.  Re- 
treating to  the  willows  was  as  perilous  a task  as  had 
ever  confronted  Duane;  and  when  he  had  accom- 
plished it,  right  under  what  seemed  a hundred  blaz- 
ing rifles,  he  felt  that  he  had  indeed  been  favored  by 
Providence.  This  time  men  followed  him  a goodly 
ways  into  the  brake,  and  the  ripping  of  lead  through 
the  willows  sounded  on  all  sides  of  him. 

When  the  noise  of  pursuit  ceased  Duane  sat  down 
in  the  darkness,  his  mind  clamped  between  two 
things — whether  to  try  again  to  escape  or  wait  for 
possible  opportunity.  He  seemed  incapable  of  de- 
cision. His  intelligence  told  him  that  every  hour 
lessened  his  chances  for  escape.  He  had  little  enough 
chance  in  anjr  case,  and  that  was  what  made  another 
attempt  so  desperately  hard.  Still  it  was  not  love 
of  life  that  bound  him.  There  would  come  an  hour, 
sooner  or  later,  when  he  would  wrench  decision  out 
of  this  chaos  of  emotion  and  thought.  But  that 
time  was  not  yet. 


168 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


When  he  had  remained  quiet  long  enough  to  cool 
off  and  recover  from  his  run  he  found  that  he  was 
tired.  He  stretched  out  to  rest.  But  the  swarms 
of  vicious  mosquitoes  prevented  sleep.  This  comer 
of  the  brake  was  low  and  near  the  river,  a breeding- 
ground  for  the  blood-suckers.  They  sang  and  hum- 
med and  whined  around  him  in  an  ever-increasing 
horde.  He  covered  his  head  and  hands  with  his 
coat  and  lay  there  patiently.  That  was  a long  and 
wretched  night.  Morning  found  him  still  strong 
physically,  but  in  a dreadful  state  of  mind. 

First  he  hurried  for  the  river.  Pie  could  with- 
stand the  pangs  of  hunger,  but  it  was  imperative  to 
quench  thirst.  His  wound  made  him  feverish,  and 
therefore  more  than  usually  hot  and  thirsty.  Again 
he  was  refreshed.  That  morning  he  was  hard  put 
to  it  to  hold  himself  back  from  attempting  to  cross 
the  river.  If  he  could  find  a light  log  it  was  within 
the  bounds  of  possibility  that  he  might  ford  the  shal- 
low water  and  bars  of  quicksand.  But  not  yeti 
Wearily,  doggedly  he  faced  about  toward  the  bluff. 

All  that  day  and  all  that  night,  all  the  next  day 
and  all  the  next  night,  he  stole  like  a hunted  savage 
from  river  to  bluff ; and  every  hour  forced  upon  him 
the  bitter  certainty  that  he  was  trapped. 

Duane  lost  track  of  days,  of  events.  He  had  com® 
to  an  evil  pass.  There  arrived  an  hour  when,  closely 
pressed  by  pursuers  at  the  extreme  southern  cornet 
of  the  brake,  he  took  to  a dense  thicket  of  willows, 
driven  to  what  he  believed  was  his  last  stand. 

If  only  these  human  bloodhounds  would  swiftly 
close  in  on  him ! Let  him  fight  to  the  last  bitter  gasp 
and  have  it  over!  But  these  hunters,  eager  as  they 

169 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


were  to  get  him,  had  care  of  their  own  skins.  They 
took  few  risks.  They  had  him  cornered. 

It  was  the  middle  of  the  day,  hot,  dusty,  oppres- 
sive, threatening  storm.  Like  a snake  Duane  crawled 
into  a little  space  in  the  darkest  part  of  the  thicket 
and  lay  still.  Men  had  cut  him  off  from  the  bluff, 
from  the  river,  seemingly  from  all  sides.  But  he 
heard  voices  only  from  in  front  and  toward  his  left. 
Even  if  his  passage  to  the  river  had  not  been  blocked, 
it  might  just  as  well  have  been. 

“Come  on  fellers — down  hyar,”  called  one  man 
from  the  bluff. 

“Got  him  corralled  at  last,”  shouted  another. 

“Reckon  ye  needn’t  be  too  shore.  We  thought 
thet  more’n  once,”  taunted  another. 

“I  seen  him,  I tell  you.” 

“Aw,  thet  was  a deer.” 

“But  Bill  found  fresh  tracks  an’  blood  on  the 
willows.” 

“If  he’s  winged  we  needn’t  hurry.” 

‘ ‘ Hold  on  thar,  you  boys,  ” came  a shout  in  authori- 
tative tones  from  farther  up  the  bluff.  “Go  slow. 
You  - all  air  gittin’  foolish  at  the  end  of  a long 
chase.” 

“Thet’s  right,  Colonel.  Hold  ’em  back.  There’s 
nothin’  shorer  than  somebody  ’ll  be  stoppin’  lead 
pretty  quick.  He'll  be  huntin’  us  soon!” 

“Let’s  surround  this  comer  an’  starve  him  out.” 

“Fire  the  brake.” 

How  clearly  all  this  talk  pierced  Duane’s  ears ! In 
it  he  seemed  to  hear  his  doom.  This,  then,  was  the 
end  he  had  always  expected,  which  had  been  close 
to  him  before,  yet  never  like  now. 

1 7C 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“By  God!”  whispered  Duane,  “the  thing  for  me 
to  do  now — is  go  out — meet  them!” 

That  was  prompted  by  the  fighting,  the  killing 
instinct  in  him.  In  that  moment  it  had  almost 
superhuman  power.  If  he  must  die,  that  was  the 
way  for  him  to  die.  What  else  could  be  expected 
of  Buck  Duane?  He  got  to  his  knees  and  drew  his 
gun.  With  his  swollen  and  almost  useless  hand  he 
held  what  spare  ammunition  he  had  left.  He  ought 
to  creep  out  noiselessly  to  the  edge  of  the  willows, 
suddenly  face  his  pursuers,  then,  while  there  was  a 
beat  left  in  his  heart,  kill,  kill,  kill.  These  men  all 
had  rifles.  The  fight  would  be  short.  But  the 
marksmen  did  not  live  on  earth  who  could  make 
such  a fight  go  wholly  against  him.  Confronting 
them  suddenly  he  could  kill  a man  for  every  shot 
in  his  gun. 

Thus  Duane  reasoned.  So  he  hoped  to  accept 
his  fate — to  meet  this  end.  But  when  he  tried  to 
step  forward  something  checked  him.  He  forced 
himself;  yet  he  could  not  go.  The  obstruction  that 
opposed  his  will  was  as  insurmountable  as  it  had 
been  physically  impossible  for  him  to  climb  the  bluff. 

Slowly  he  fell  back,  crouched  low,  and  then  lay 
flat.  The  grim  and  ghastly  dignity  that  had  been 
his  a moment  before  fell  away  from  him.  He  lay 
'there  stripped  of  his  last  shred  of  self-respect.  He 
wondered  was  he  afraid;  had  he,  the  last  of  the 
Duanes — had  he  come  to  feel  fear?  No!  Never  in 
all  his  wild  life  had  he  so  longed  to  go  out  and  meet 
men  face  to  face.  It  was  not  fear  that  held  him  back. 
He  hated  this  hiding,  this  eternal  vigilance,  this 
hopeless  life.  The  damnable  paradox  of  the  situ- 
i~>  171 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


ation  was  that  if  he  went  out  to  meet  these  men  there 
was  absolutely  no  doubt  of  his  doom.  If  he  clung 
to  his  covert  there  was  a chance,  a merest  chance, 
for  his  life.  These  pursuers,  dogged  and  unflagging 
as  they  had  been,  were  mortally  afraid  of  him.  It 
was  his  fame  that  made  them  cowards.  Duane’s 
keenness  told  him  that  at  the  very  darkest  and  most 
perilous  moment  there  was  still  a chance  for  him. 
And  the  blood  in  him,  the  temper  of  his  father,  the 
years  of  his  outlawry,  the  pride  of  his  unso^gH  and 
hated  career,  the  nameless,  inexplicable  something 
in  him  made  him  accept  that  slim  chance. 

Waiting  then  became  a physical  and  mental  agony. 
He  lay  under  the  burning  sun,  parched  by  thirst, 
laboring  to  breathe,  sweating  and  bleeding.  His 
uncared-for  wound  was  like  a red-hot  prong  in  his 
flesh.  Blotched  and  swollen  from  the  never-ending 
attack  of  flies  and  mosquitoes  his  face  seemed  twice 
its  natural  size,  and  it  ached  and  stung. 

On  one  side,  then,  was  this  physical  torture;  on 
the  other  the  old  hell,  terribly  augmented  at  this 
crisis,  in  his  mind.  It  seemed  that  thought  and 
imagination  had  never  been  so  swift.  If  death  found 
him  presently,  how  would  it  come?  Would  he  get 
decent  burial  or  be  left  for  the  peccaries  and  the 
coyotes  ? Would  his  people  ever  know  where  he  had 
fallen?  How  wretched,  how  miserable  his  state! 
It  was  cowardly,  it  was  monstrous  for  him  to  cling 
longer  to  this  doomed  life.  Then  the  hate  in  his 
heart,  the  hellish  hate  of  these  men  on  his  trail — 
that  was  like  a scourge.  He  felt  no  longer  human. 
He  had  degenerated  into  an  animal  that  could  think. 
His  heart  pounded,  his  pulse  beat,  his  breast  heaved ; 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


and  this  internal,  strife  seemed  to  thunder  into  his 
ears.  He  was  now  enacting  the  tragedy  of  all 
crippled,  starved,  hunted  wolves  at  bay  in  their 
dens.  Only  his  tragedy  was  infinitely  more  terrible 
because  he  had  mind  enough  to  see  his  plight,  his 
resemblance  to  a lonely  wolf,  bloody-fanged,  drip- 
ping, snarling,  fire-eyed  in  a last  instinctive  defiance. 

Mounted  upon  the  horror  of  Duane’s  thought  was 
a watching,  listening  intensity  so  supreme  that  it 
registered  impressions  which  were  creations  of  his 
imagination.  He  heard  stealthy  steps  that  were  not 
there;  he  saw  shadowy  moving  figures  that  were 
only  leaves.  A hundred  times  when  he  was  about 
to  pull  trigger  he  discovered  his  error.  Yet  voices 
came  from  a distance,  and  steps  and  crackings  in  the 
willows,  and  other  sounds  real  enough.  But  Duane 
could  not  distinguish  the  real  from  the  false.  There 
were  times  when  the  wind  which  had  arisen  sent  a 
hot,  pattering  breath  down  the  willow  aisles,  and 
Duane  heard  it  as  an  approaching  army. 

This  straining  of  Duane’s  faculties  brought  on  a 
reaction  which  in  itself  was  a respite.  He  saw  the 
sun  darkened  by  thick  slow  spreading  clouds.  A 
storm  appeared  to  be  coming.  How  slowly  it  moved ! 
The  air  was  like  steam.  If  there  broke  one  of  those 
dark,  violent  storms  common  though  rare  to  the 
country,  Duane  believed  he  might  slip  away  in  the 
fury  of  wind  and  rain.  Hope,  that  seemed  unquench- 
able in  him,  resurged  again.  He  hailed  it  with  a 
bitterness  that  was  sickening. 

Then  at  a rustling  step  he  froze  into  the  old 
strained  attention.  He  heard  a slow  patter  of  soft 
feet.  A tawny  shape  crossed  a little  opening  in  the 

i73 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


thicket.  It  was  that  of  a dog.  The  moment  while 
that  beast  came  into  full  view  was  an  age.  The 
dog  was  not  a bloodhound,  and  if  he  had  a trail  or 
a scent  he  seemed  to  be  at  fault  on  it.  Duane  waited 
for  the  inevitable  discovery.  Any  kind  of  a hunting- 
dog  could  have  found  him  in  that  thicket.  Voices 
from  outside  could  be  heard  urging  on  the  dog. 
Rover  they  called  him.  Duane  sat  up  at  the  moment 
the  dog  entered  the  little  shaded  covert.  Duane 
expected  a yelping,  a baying,  or  at  least  a bark  that 
would  tell  of  his  hiding-place.  A strange  relief 
swiftly  swayed  over  Duane.  The  end  was  near  now. 
He  had  no  further  choice.  Let  them  come — a quick 
fierce  exchange  of  shots — and  then  this  torture  past ! 
He  waited  for  the  dog  to  give  the  alarm. 

But  the  dog  looked  at  him  and  trotted  by  into 
the  thicket  without  a yelp.  Duane  could  not  believe 
the  evidence  of  his  senses.  He  thought  he  had  sud- 
denly gone  deaf.  He  saw  the  dog  disappear,  heard 
him  running  to  and  fro  among  the  willows,  getting 
farther  and  farther  away,  till  all  sound  from  him 
ceased. 

“Thar’s  Rover,”  called  a voice  from  the  bluff  - 
side.  “He’s  been  through  thet  black  patch.” 

“Nary  a rabbit  in  there,”  replied  another. 

“Bah!  Thet  pup’s  no  good,”  scornfully  growled 
another  man.  “Put  a hound  at  thet  clump  of  wil- 
lows.” 

‘ ‘ Fire’s  the  game.  Bum  the  brake  before  the  rain 
comes.” 

The  voices  droned  off  as  their  owners  evidently 
walked  up  the  ridge. 

Then  upon  Duane  fell  the  crushing  burden  of  the 

i 74 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


old  waiting,  watching,  listening  spell.  After  all,  it 
was  not  to  end  just  now.  His  chance  still  persisted 
— looked  a little  brighter — led  him  on,  perhaps,  to 
forlorn  hope. 

All  at  once  twilight  settled  quickly  down  upon  the 
willow  brake,  or  else  Duane  noted  it  suddenly.  He 
imagined  it  to  be  caused  by  the  approaching  storm. 
But  there  was  little  movement  of  air  or  cloud,  and 
thunder  still  muttered  and  rumbled  at  a distance. 
The  fact  was  the  sun  had  set,  and  at  this  time  of 
overcast  sky  night  was  at  hand. 

Duane  realized  it  with  the  awakening  of  all  his 
old  force.  He  would  yet  elude  his  pursuers.  That 
was  the  moment  when  he  seized  the  significance  of 
all  these  fortunate  circumstances  which  had  aided 
him.  Without  haste  and  without  sound  he  began 
to  crawl  in  the  direction  of  the  river.  It  was  not  far, 
and  he  reached  the  bank  before  darkness  set  in. 
There  were  men  up  on  the  bluff  carrying  wood  to 
build  a bonfire.  For  a moment  he  half  yielded  to  a 
temptation  to  try  to  slip  along  the  river-shore,  close 
in  under  the  willows.  But  when  he  raised  himself 
to  peer  out  he  saw  that  an  attempt  of  this  kind 
would  be  liable  to  failure.  At  the  same  moment  he 
saw  a rough-hewn  plank  lying  beneath  him,  lodged 
against  some  willows.  The  end  of  the  plank  extended 
in  almost  to  a point  beneath  him.  Quick  as  a flash 
he  saw  where  a desperate  chance  invited  him.  Then 
he  tied  his  gun  in  an  oilskin  bag  and  put  it  in  his 
pocket. 

The  bank  was  steep  and  crumbly.  He  must  not 
break  off  any  earth  to  splash  into  the  water.  There 
was  a willow  growing  back  some  few  feet  from  the 

ITS 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


edge  of  the  batik.  Cautiously  he  pulled  it  down, 
bent  it  over  the  water  so  that  when  he  released  it 
there  would  be  no  springing  back.  Then  he  trusted 
his  weight  to  it,  with  his  feet  sliding  carefully  down 
the  bank.  He  went  into  the  water  almost  up  to  his 
knees,  felt  the  quicksand  grip  his  feet ; then,  leaning 
forward  till  he  reached  the  plank,  he  pulled  it  toward 
him  and  lay  upon  it. 

Without  a sound  one  end  went  slowly  under  water 
and  the  farther  end  appeared  lightly  braced  against 
the  overhanging  willows.  Very  carefully  then  Duane 
began  to  extricate  his  right  foot  from  the  sucking 
sand.  It  seemed  as  if  his  foot  was  incased  in  solid 
rock.  But  there  was  a movement  upward,  and  he 
pulled  with  all  the  power  he  dared  use.  It  came 
slowly  and  at  length  was  free.  The  left  one  he  re- 
leased with  less  difficulty.  The  next  few  moments 
he  put  all  his  attention  on  the  plank  to  ascertain  if 
his  weight  would  sink  it  into  the  sand.  - The  far  end 
slipped  off  the  willows  with  a little  splash  and  gradu- 
ally settled  to  rest  upon  the  bottom.  But  it  sank 
no  farther,  and  Duane’s  greatest  concern  was  re- 
lieved. However,  as  it  was  manifestly  impossible 
/for  him  to  keep  his  head  up  for  long  he  carefully 
crawled  out  upon  the  plank  until  he  could  rest  an 
arm  and  shoulder  upon  the  willows. 

When  he  looked  up  it  was  to  find  the  night  strange- 
ly luminous  with  fires.  There  was  a bonfire  on  the 
extreme  end  of  the  bluff,  another  a hundred  paces 
beyond.  A great  flare  extended  over  the  brake  in 
that  direction.  Duane  heard  a roaring  on  the  wind, 
and  he  knew  his  pursuers  had  fired  the  willows.  He 
did  not  believe  that  would  help  them  much.  The 

176 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


brake  was  dry  enough,  but  too  green  to  bum  readily. 
And  as  for  the  bonfires  he  discovered  that  the  men, 
probably  having  run  out  of  wood,  were  keeping  up 
the  light  with  oil  and  stuff  from  the  village.  A dozen 
men  kept  watch  on  the  bluff  scarcely  fifty  paces  from 
where  Duane  lay  concealed  by  the  willows.  They 
talked,  cracked  jokes,  sang  songs,  and  manifestly  con- 
sidered this  outlaw-hunting  a great  lark.  As  long 
as  the  bright  light  lasted  Duane  dared  not  move. 
He  had  the  patience  and  the  endurance  to  wait  for 
the  breaking  of  the  storm,  and  if  that  did  not  come, 
then  the  early  hour  before  dawn  when  the  gray  fog 
and  gloom  were  over  the  river. 

Escape  was  now  in  his  grasp.  He  felt  it.  And 
with  that  in  his  mind  he  waited,  strong  as  steel  in 
his  conviction,  capable  of  withstanding  any  strain 
endurable  by  the  human  frame. 

The  wind  blew  in  puffs,  grew  wilder,  and  roa/ed 
through  the  willows,  carrying  bright  sparks  upward. 
Thunder  rolled  down  over  the  river,  and  lightning 
began  to  flash.  Then  the  rain  fell  in  heavy  sheets, 
but  not  steadily.  The  flashes  of  lightning  and  the 
broad  flares  played  so  incessantly  that  Duane  could 
not  trust  himself  out  on  the  open  river.  Certainly 
the  storm  rather  increased  the  watchfulness  of  the 
men  on  the  bluff.  He  knew  how  to  wait,  and  he 
waited,  grimly  standing  pain  and  cramp  and  chill. 
The  storm  wore  away  as  desultorily  as  it  had  come, 
and  the  long  night  set  in.  There  were  times  when 
Duane  thought  he  was  paralyzed,  others  when  he 
grew  sick,  giddy,  weak  from  the  strained  posture. 
The  first  paling  of  the  stars  quickened  him  with  a 
kind  of  wild  joy.  He  watched  them  grow  paler, 

177 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


dimmer,  disappear  one  by  one.  A shadow  hovered 
do  wn,  rested  upon  the  river,  and  gradually  thickened. 
The  bonfire  on  the  bluff  showed  as  through  a foggy 
veil.  The  watchers  were  mere  groping  dark  figures. 

Duane,  aware  of  how  cramped  he  had  become 
from  long  inaction,  began  to  move  his  legs  and  un- 
injured arm  and  body,  and  at  length  overcame  a 
paralyzing  stiffness.  Then,  digging  his  hand  in  the 
sand  and  holding  the  plank  with  his  knees,  he  edged 
it  out  into  the  river.  Inch  by  inch  he  advanced 
until  clear  of  the  willows.  Looking  upward,  he  saw 
the  shadowy  figures  of  the  men  on  the  bluff.  He 
realized  they  ought  to  see  him,  feared  that  they 
would.  But  he  kept  on,  cautiously,  noiselessly,  with 
a heart-numbing  slowness.  From  time  to  time  his 
elbow  made  a little  gurgle  and  splash  in  the  water. 
Try  as  he  might,  he  could  not  prevent  this.  It  got 
to  be  like  the  hollow  roar  of  a rapid  filling  his  ears 
with  mocking  sound.  There  was  a perceptible  current 
out  in  the  river,  and  it  hindered  straight  advance- 
ment. Inch  by  inch  he  crept  on,  expecting  to  hear 
the  bang  of  rifles,  the  spattering  of  bullets.  Fie  tried 
not  to  look  backward,  but  failed.  The  fire  appeared 
a little  dimmer,  the  moving  shadows  a little  darker. 

Once  the  plank  stuck  in  the  sand  and  felt  as  if  it 
were  settling.  Bringing  feet  to  aid  his  hand,  he 
shoved  it  over  the  treacherous  place.  This  way  he 
made  faster  progress.  The  obscurity  of  the  river 
seemed  to  be  enveloping  him.  When  he  looked  back 
again  the  figures  of  the  men  were  coalescing  with 
the  surrounding  gloom,  the  fires  were  streaky,  blurred 
patches  of  light.  But  the  sky  above  was  brighter. 
Dawn  was  not  far  off. 


178 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


To  the  west  all  was  dark.  With  infinite  care  and 
implacable  spirit  and  waning  strength  Duane  shoved 
the  plank  along,  and  when  at  last  he  discerned  the 
black  border  of  bank  it  came  in  time,  he  thought, 
to  save  him.  He  crawled  out,  rested  till  the  gray 
dawn  broke,  and  then  headed  north  through  the 
willows. 


CHAPTER  XIH 


HOW  long  Duane  was  traveling  out  of  that  re- 
gion he  never  knew.  But  he  reached  familiar 
country  and  found  a rancher  who  had  before  be- 
friended him.  Here  his  arm  was  attended  to;  he 
had  food  and  sleep;  and  in  a couple  of  weeks  he 
was  himself  again. 

When  the  time  came  for  Duane  to  ride  away  on 
his  endless  trail  his  friend  reluctantly  imparted  the 
information  that  some  thirty  miles  south,  near  the 
village  of  Shirley,  there  was  posted  at  a certain 
cross-road  a reward  for  Buck  Duane  dead  or  alive. 
Duane  had  heard  of  such  notices,  but  he  had  never 
seen  one.  His  friend’s  reluctance  and  refusal  to 
state  for  what  particular  deed  this  reward  was  offered 
roused  Duane’s  curiosity.  He  had  never  been  any 
closer  to  Shirley  than  this  rancher’s  home.  Doubt- 
less some  post-office  burglary,  some  gun-shooting 
scrape  had  been  attributed  to  him.  And  he  had 
been  accused  of  worse  deeds.  Abruptly  Duane  de- 
cided to  ride  over  there  and  find  out  who  wanted 
him  dead  or  alive,  and  why. 

As  he  started  south  on  the  road  he  reflected  that 
this  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  deliberately  hunted 
trouble.  Introspection  awarded  him  this  knowl- 
edge; during  that  last  terrible  flight  on  the  lower 
Nueces  and  while  he  lay  abed  recuperating  he  had 
jSo 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


changed.  A fixed,  immutable,  hopeless  bitterness 
abided  with  him.  He  had  reached  the  end  of  his 
rope.  All  the  power  of  his  mind  and  soul  were  un- 
available to  turn  him  back  from  his  fate.  That 
fate  was  to  become  an  outlaw  in  every  sense  of  the 
term,  to  be  what  he  was  credited  with  being — that 
is  to  say,  to  embrace  evil.  He  had  never  committed 
a. crime.  He  wondered  now  was  crime  close  to  him? 
He  reasoned  finally  that  the  desperation  of  crime 
had  been  forced  upon  him,  if  not  its  motive;  and 
that  if  driven,  there  was  no  limit  to  his  possibilities. 
He  understood  now  many  of  the  hitherto  inexplicable 
actions  of  certain  noted  outlaws — why  they  had 
returned  to  the  scene  of  the  crime  that  had  out- 
lawed them;  why  they  took  such  strangely  fatal 
chances;  why  life  was  no  more  to  them  than  a 
breath  of  wind;  why  they  rode  straight  into  the 
jaws  of  death  to  confront  wronged  men  or  hunting 
rangers,  vigilantes,  to  laugh  in  their  very  faces.  It 
was  such  bitterness  as  his  that  drove  these  men. 

Toward  afternoon,  from  the  top  of  a long  hill, 
Duane  saw  the  green  fields  and  trees  and  shining 
roofs  of  a town  he  considered  must  be  Shirley.  And 
at  the  bottom  of  the  hill  he  came  upon  an  intersect- 
ing road.  There  was  a placard  nailed  on  the  cross- 
road sign-post.  Duane  drew  rein  near  it  and  leaned 
close  to  read  the  faded  print.  $1000  reward  for 
buck  duane  dead  or  alive.  Peering  closer  to  read 
the  finer,  more  faded  print,  Duane  learned  that  he 
was  wanted  for  the  murder  of  Mrs.  Jeff  Aiken  at 
her  ranch  near  Shirley.  The  month  September  was 
named,  but  the  date  was  illegible.  The  reward  was 
offered  by  the  woman’s  husband,  whose  name  ap- 

181 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


peared  with  that  of  a sheriff’s  at  the  bottom  of  the 
placard. 

Duane  read  the  thing  twice.  When  he  straight- 
ened he  was  sick  with  the  horror  of  his  fate,  wild 
with  passion  at  those  misguided  fools  who  could 
believe  that  he  had  harmed  a woman.  Then  he 
remembered  Kate  Bland,  and,  as  always  when  she 
returned  to  him,  he  quaked  inwardly.  Years  before 
word  had  gone  abroad  that  he  had  killed  her,  and 
so  it  was  easy  for  men  wanting  to  fix  a crime  to 
name  him.  Perhaps  it  had  been  done  often.  Prob- 
ably he  bore  on  his  shoulders  a burden  of  numberless 
crimes. 

A dark,  passionate  fury  possessed  him.  It  shook 
him  like  a storm  shakes  the  oak.  When  it  passed, 
leaving  him  cold,  with  clouded  brow  and  piercing 
eye,  his  mind  was  set.  Spurring  his  horse,  he  rode 
straight  toward  the  village. 

Shirley  appeared  to  be  a large,  pretentious  country 
town.  A branch  of  some  railroad  terminated  there. 
The  main  street  was  wide,  bordered  by  trees  and 
commodious  houses,  and  many  of  the  stores  were  of 
brick.  A large  plaza  shaded  by  giant  cottonwood 
trees  occupied  a central  location. 

Duane  pulled  his  running  horse  and  halted  him, 
plunging  and  snorting,  before  a group  of  idle  men 
who  lounged  on  benches  in  the  shade  of  a spreading 
cottonwood.  How  many  times  had  Duane  seen 
just  that  kind  of  lazy  shirt-sleeved  Texas  group! 
Not  often,  however,  had  he  seen  such  placid,  lolling, 
good-natured  men  change  their  expression,  their 
attitude  so  swiftly.  His  advent  apparently  was 
momentous.  They  evidently  took  him  for  an  un- 

182 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


usual  visitor.  So  far  as  Duane  could  tell,  not  one 
of  them  recognized  him,  had  a hint  of  his  identity. 

He  slid  off  his  horse  and  threw  the  bridle. 

“I’m  Buck  Duane,”  he  said.  “I  saw  that  placard 
—out  there  on  a sign-post.  It’s  a damn  lie!  Some- 
body find  this  man  Jeff  Aiken.  I want  to  see  him.” 

His  announcement  was  taken  in  absolute  silence. 
That  was  the  only  effect  he  noted,  for  he  avoided 
looking  at  these  villagers.  The  reason  was  simple 
enough;  Duane  felt  himself  overcome  with  emotion. 
There  were  tears  in  his  eyes.  He  sat  down  on  a 
bench,  put  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  his  hands 
to  his  face.  For  once  he  had  absolutely  no  concern 
for  his  fate.  This  ignominy  was  the  last  straw. 

Presently,  however,  he  became  aware  of  some 
kind  of  commotion  among  these  villagers.  He  heard 
whisperings,  low,  hoarse  Voices,  then  the  shuffle  of 
rapid  feet  moving  away.  All  at  once  a violent  hand 
jerked  his  gun  from  its  holster.  When  Duane  rose 
a gaunt  man,  livid  of  face,  shaking  like  a leaf,  con- 
fronted him  with  his  own  gun. 

“Hands  up,  thar,  you  Buck  Duane!”  he  roared, 
waving  the  gun. 

That  appeared  to  be  the  cue  for  pandemonium 
to  break  loose.  Duane  opened  his  lips  to  speak, 
but  if  he  had  yelled  at  the  top  of  his  lungs  he  could 
not  have  made  himself  heard.  In  weary  disgust  he 
looked  at  the  gaunt  man,  and  then  at  the  others, 
who  wrere  working  themselves  into  a frenzy.  He 
made  no  move,  however,  to  hold  up  his  hands.  The 
villagers  surrounded  him,  emboldened  by  finding 
him  now  unarmed.  Then  several  men  lay  hold  of 
his  arms  and  pinioned  them  behind  his  back.  Fe- 

183 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


sistance  was  useless  even  if  Duane  had  had  the 
spirit.  Some  one  of  them  fetched  his  halter  from 
his  saddle,  and  with  this  they  bound  him  helpless. 

People  were  running  now  from  the  street,  the 
stores,  the  houses.  Old  men,  cowboys,  clerks,  boys, 
ranchers  came  on  the  trot.  The  crowd  grew.  The 
increasing  clamor  began  to  attract  women  as  well 
as  men.  A group  of  girls  ran  up,  then  hung  back 
in  fright  and  pity. 

The  presence  of  cowboys  made  a difference.  They 
split  up  the  crowd,  got  to  Duane,  and  lay  hold  of 
him  with  rough,  business-like  hands.  One  of  them 
lifted  his  fists  and  roared  at  the  frenzied  mob  to 
fall  back,  to  stop  the  racket.  He  beat  them  back 
into  a circle;  but  it  was  some  little  time  before  the 
hubbub  quieted  down  so  a voice  could  be  heard. 

‘ ‘ shut  up,  will  you-all  ?”  he  was  yelling.  ‘ ‘ Give 

us  a chance  to  hear  somethin’.  Easy  now—  soho. 
There  ain’t  nobody  goin’  to  be  hurt.  Thet’s  right; 
everybody  quiet  nowr.  Let’s  see  what’s  come  off.” 

This  cowboy,  evidently  one  of  authority,  or  at 
least  one  of  strong  personality,  turned  to  the  gaunt 
man,  who  still  waved  Duane’s  gun. 

“Abe,  put  the  gun  down,”  he  said.  “It  might 
go  off.  Here,  give  it  to  me.  Now,  what’s  wrong? 
Who’s  this  roped  gent,  an’  what’s  he  done?” 

The  gaunt  fellow,  who  appeared  novr  about  to 
collapse,  lifted  a shaking  hand  and  pointed. 

“Thet  thar  feller — he’s  Buck  Duane!”  he  panted. 

An  angry  murmur  ran  through  the  surrounding 
crowd. 

“The  rope!  The  rope!  Throw  it  over  a branch! 
String  him  up!”  cried  an  excited  villager. 

184 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANKER 


“Buck  Duane!  Buck  Duane!” 

“Hang  him!” 

The  cowboy  silenced  these  crie*,. 

“Abe,  how  do  you  know  this  fellow  is  Buck 
Duane?”  he  asked,  sharply. 

‘ ‘ Why — he  said  so,”  replied  the  man  called  Abe. 

“What!”  came  the  exclamation,  incredulously. 

“It’s  a tarnal  fact,”  panted  Abe,  waving  his  hands 
importantly.  He  was  an  old  man  and  appeared  to 
be  carried  away  with  the  significance  of  his  deed. 
“He  like  to  rid’  his  hoss  right  over  us-all.  Then 
he  jumped  off,  says  he  was  Buck  Duane,  an’  he 
wanted  to  see  Jeff  Aiken  bad.” 

This  speech  caused  a second  commotion  as  noisy 
though  not  so  enduring  as  the  first.  When  the  cow- 
boy, assisted  by  a couple  of  his  mates,  had  restored 
order  again,  some  one  had  slipped  the  noose-end  of 
Duane’s  rope  over  his  head. 

“Up  with  him!”  screeched  a wild-eyed  youth. 

The  mob  surged  closer  was  shoved  back  by  the 
cowboys. 

“Abe,  if  you  ain’t  drunk  or  crazy  tell  thet  over,” 
ordered  Abe’s  interlocutor. 

With  some  show  of  resentment  and  more  of  dig- 
nity Abe  reiterated  his  former  statement. 

“If  he’s  Buck  Duane  how’n  hell  did  you  get  hold 
of  his  gun?”  bluntly  queried  the  cowboy. 

“Why — he  set  down  thar — an’  he  kind  of  hid  his 
face  on  his  hand.  An’  I grabbed  his  gun  an’  got  the 
drop  on  him.” 

What  the  cowboy  thought  of  this  was  expressed 
in  a laugh.  His  mates  likewise  grinned  broadly. 
Then  the  leader  turned  to  Duane. 

185 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“Stranger,  I reckon  you’d  better  speak  up  for 
yourself,”  he  said. 

That  stilled  the  crowd  as  no  command  had  done. 

“I’m  Buck  Duane,  all  right.”  said  Duane,  quietly. 
“It  was  this  way — ” 

The  big  cowboy  seemed  to  vibrate  with  a shock. ' 
All  the  ruddy  warmth  left  his  face;  his  jaw  bega^ 
to  bulge;  the  corded  veins  in  his  neck  stood  out  m 
knots.  In  an  instant  he  had  a hard,  stem,  strange 
look.  He  shot  out  a powerful  hand  that  fastened 
in  the  front  of  Duane’s  blouse. 

“Somethin’  queer  here.  But  if  you’re  Duane 
you’re  sure  in  bad.  Any  fool  ought  to  know  that. 
You  mean  it,  then?” 

“Yes.” 

“Rode  in  to  shoot  up  the  town,  eh?  Same  old 
stunt  of  you  gun-fighters?  Meant  to  kill  the  man 
who  offered  a reward?  Wanted  to  see  Jeff  Aiken- 
bad,  huh?” 

“No,”  replied  Duane.  “Your  citizen  here  mis- 
represented things.  He  seems  a little  off  his  head.” 

“Reckon  he  is.  Somebody  is,  that’s  sure.  You 
claim  Buck  Duane,  then,  an’  all  his  doings?” 

“I’m  Duane;  yes.  But  I won’t  stand  for  the 
blame  of  things  I never  did.  That’s  why  I’m  here. 

I saw  that  placard  out  there  offering  the  reward. 
Until  now  I never  was  within  half  a day’s  ride  of 
this  town.  I’m  blamed  for  what  I never  did.  I 
rode  in  here,  told  who  I was,  asked  somebody  tc 
send  for  Jeff  Aiken.” 

“An’  then  you  set  down  an’  let  this  old  guy  throw 
your  own  gun  on  you?”  queried  the  cowboy  in 
amazement. 

186 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“I  guess  that’s  it,”  replied  Duane. 

“Well,  it’s  powerful  strange,  if  you’re  really  Buck 
Duane.” 

A man  elbowed  his  way  into  the  circle. 

“It’s  Duane.  I recognize  him.  I seen  him  in 
more’n  one  place,”  he  said.  “Sibert,  you  can  rely 
on  what  I tell  you.  I don’t  know  if  he’s  locoed  or 
what.  But  I do  know  he’s  the  genuine  Buck  Duane. 
Any  one  who’d  ever  seen  him  onct  would  never  for- 
get him.” 

“What  do  you  want  to  see  Aiken  for?”  asked  the 
cowboy  Sibert. 

“I  want  to  face  him,  to  tell  him  I never  harmed 
his  wife.” 

“Why?” 

“Because  I’m  innocent,  that’s  all.” 

“Suppose  we  send  for  Aiken  an’  he  hears  you  an’ 
doesn’t  believe  you;  what  then?” 

“If  he  won’t  believe  me — why,  then  my 'case’s  so 
bad — I’d  be  better  off  dead.” 

A momentary  silence  was  broken  by  Sibert. 

“If  this  isn’t  a queer  deal!  Boys,  reckon  we’d 
better  send  for  Jeff.” 

“Somebody  went  fer  him.  He’ll  be  cornin’  soon,” 
replied  a man. 

Duane  stood  a head  taller  than  that  circle  of 
curious  faces.  He  gazed  out  above  and  beyond  them. 
It  was  in  this  way  that  he  chanced  to  see  a number 
of  women  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd.  Some 
were  old,  with  hard  faces,  like  the  men.  Some  were 
young  and  comely,  and  most  of  these  seemed  agitated 
by  excitement  or  distress.  They  cast  fearful,  pitying 
glances  upon  Duane  as  he  stood  there  with  that 
13  187 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


noose  round  his  neck.  Women  were  more  human 
than  men,  Duane  thought.  He  met  eyes  that  di- 
lated, seemed  fascinated  at  his  gaze,  but  were  not 
averted.  It  was  the  old  women  who  were  voluble, 
loud  in  expression  of  their  feelings. 

Near  the  trunk  of  the  cottonwood  stood  a slender 
-woman  in  white.  Duane’s  wandering  glance  rested 
upon  her.  Her  eyes  were  riveted  upon  him.  A 
soft-hearted  woman,  probably,  who  did  not  want  to 
see  him  hanged! 

“Thar  comes  Jeff  Aiken  now,”  called  a man, 
loudly. 

The  crowd  shifted  and  trampled  in  eagerness. 

Duane  saw  two  men  coming  fast,  one  of  whom,  in 
the  lead,  was  of  stalwart  build.  He  had  a gun  in 
his  hand,  and  his  manner  was  that  of  fierce  energy. 

The  cowboy  Sibert  thrust  open  the  jostling  circle 
of  men. 

“Hold  on,  Jeff,”  he  called,  and  he  blocked  the 
man  with,  the  gun.  He  spoke  so  low  Duane  could 
not  hear  what  he  said,  and  his  form  hid  Aiken’s  face. 
At  that  juncture  the  crowd  spread  out,  closed  in, 
and  Aiken  and  Sibert  were  caught  in  the  circle. 
There  was  a pushing  forward,  a pressing  of  rricTny 
bodies,  hoarse  cries  and  flinging  hands — again  the 
insane  tumult  was  about  to  break  out — the  demand 
for  an  outlaw’s  blood,  the  call  for  a wild  justice  exe- 
cuted a thousand  times  before  on  Texas’s  bloody 
soil. 

Sibert  bellowed  at  the  dark  encroaching  mass. 
The  cowboys  with  him  beat  and  cuffed  in  vain. 

“Jeff,  will  you  listen?”  broke  in  Sibert,  hurriedly, 
his  hand  on  the  other  man’s  arm. 

188 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

Aiken  nodded  coolly.  Duane,  who  had  seen  many 
men  in  perfect  control  of  themselves  under  circum- 
stances like  these,  recognized  the  spirit  that  domi- 
nated Aiken.  He  was  white,  cold,  passionless.  There 
were  lines  of  bitter  grief  deep  round  his  lips.  If 
Duane  ever  felt  the  meaning  of  death  fee  felt  it 
then. 

“Sure  this  ’s  your  game,  Aiken,”  said  Sibert. 
“But  hear  me  a minute.  Reckon  there’s  no  doubt 
about  this  man  bein’  Buck  Duane.  He  seen  the 
placard  out  at  the  cross-roads.  He  rides  in  to  Shir- 
ley. He  says  he’s  Buck  Duane  an’  he’s  lookin’  for 
Jeff  Aiken.  That’s  all  clear  enough.  You  know 
how  these  gun-fighters  go  lookin’  for  trouble.  But 
here’s  what  stumps  me.  Duane  sits  down  there 
on  the  bench  and  lets  old  Abe  Strickland  grab  his 
gun  an’  get  the  drop  on  him.  More’n  that,  he  gives 
me  some  strange  talk  about  how,  if  he  couldn’t  make 
you  believe  he’s  innocent,  he’d  better  be  dead.  You 
see  for  yourself  Duane  ain’t  drunk  or  crazy  or 
locoed.  He  doesn’t  strike  me  as  a man  who  rode  in 
here  huntin’  blood.  So  I reckon  you’d  better  hold 
on  till  you  hear  what  he  has  to  say.” 

Then  for  the  first  time  the  drawn-faced,  hungry- 
eyed  giant  turned  his  gaze  upon  Duane.  He  had 
intelligence  which  was  not  yet  subservient  to  pas- 
sion. Moreover,  he  seemed  the  kind  of  man  Duane 
would  care  to  have  judge  him  in  a critical  moment 
like  this. 

“Listen,”  said  Duane,  gravely,  with  his  eyes 
steady  on  Aiken’s,  “I’m  Buck  Duane.  I never  lied 
to  any  man  in  my  life.  I was  forced  into  outlawry. 
I’ve  never  had  a chance  to  leave  the  country.  I’ve 

189 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

killed  men  to  save  my  own  life.  I never  intention- 
ally harmed  any  woman.  1 rode  thirty  miles  to- 
day— deliberately  to  see  what  this  reward  was, 
who  made  it,  what  for.  When  I read  the  placard 
I went  sick  to  the  bottom  of  my  soul.  So  I rode  in 
here  to  find  you — to  tell  you  this : I never  saw  Shir- 
ley before  to-day.  It  was  impossible  for  me  to 
have — killed  your  wife.  Last  September  I was  two 
hundred  miles  north  of  here  on  the  upper  Nueces. 
I can  prove  that.  Men  who  know  me  will  tell  you 
I couldn’t  murder  a woman.  I haven’t  any  idea 
why  such  a deed  should  be  laid  at  my  hands.  It’s 
just  that  wild  border  gossip.  I have  no  idea  what 
reasons  you  have  for  holding  me  responsible.  I 
only  know — you’re  wrong.  You’ve  been  deceived. 
And  see  here,  Aiken.  You  understand  I’m  a miser- 
able man.  I’m  about  broken,  I guess.  I don’t 
care  any  more  for  life,  for  anything.  If  you  can’t 
look  me  in  the  eyes,  man  to  man,  and  believe  what 
I say — why,  by  God!  you  can  kill  me!” 

Aiken  heaved  a great  breath. 

“Buck  Duane,  whether  I’m  impressed  or  not  by 
what  you  say  needn’t  matter.  You’ve  had  accusers, 
justly  or  unjustly,  as  will  soon  appear.  The  thing 
is  we  can  prove  you  innocent  or  guilty.  My  girl 
Lucy  saw  my  wife’s  assailant.” 

He  motioned  for  the  crowd  of  men  to  open  up. 
“Somebody — you,  Sibert — go  for  Lucy.  That  ’ll 
settle  this  thing.” 

Duane  heard  as  a man  in  an  ugly  dream.  The 
faces  around  him,  the  hum  of  voices,  all  seemed 
far  off.  His  life  hung  by  the  merest  thread.  Yet 
he  did  not  think  of  that  so  much  as  of  the  brand  of 

190 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


a woman-murderer  which  might  be  soon  sealed  upon 
him  by  a frightened,  imaginative  child. 

The  crowd  trooped  apart  and  closed  again.  Duane 
caught  a blurred  image  of  a slight  girl  clinging  to 
Sibert’s  hand.  He  could  not  see  distinctly.  Aiken 
lifted  the  child,  whispered  soothingly  to  her  not  to 
be  afraid.  Then  he  fetched  her  closer  to  Duane. 

“Lucy,  tell  me.  Did  you  ever  see  this  man  be- 
fore?” asked  Aiken,  huskily  and  low.  “Is  he  the 
one — who  came  in  the  house  that  day — struck  you 
down — and  dragged  mama — ?” 

Aiken’s  voice  failed. 

A lightning  flash  seemed  to  clear  Duane’s  blurred 
'ght.  He  saw  a pale,  sad  face  and  violet  eyes  fixed 
in  gloom  and  horror  upon  his.  No  terrible  moment 
in  Duane’s  life  ever  equaled  this  one  of  silence — of 
suspense. 

“It  ain’t  him!”  cried  the  child. 

Then  Sibert  was  flinging  the  noose  off  Duane’s 
neck  and  unwinding  the  bonds  round  his  arms. 
The  spellbound  crowd  awoke  to  hoarse  exclama- 
tions. 

“See  there,  my  locoed  gents,  how  easy  you’d  hang 
the  wrong  man,”  burst  out  the  cowboy,  as  he  made 
the  rope-end  hiss.  ‘ ‘ You-all  are  a lot  of  wise  rangers. 
Haw!  haw!” 

He  freed  Duane  and  thrust  the  bone-handled  gun 
back  in  Duane’s  holster. 

“You  Abe,  there.  Reckon  you  pulled  a stunt! 
But  don’t  try  the  like  again.  And,  men,  I’ll  gamble 
there’s  a hell  of  a lot  of  bad  work  Buck  Duane’s 
named  for — which  all  he  never  done.  Clear  away 

191 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


there.  Where’s  his  hoss?  Duane,  the  road’s  open 
out  of  Shirley.” 

Sibert  swept  the  gaping  watchers  aside  and 
pressed  Duane  toward  the  horse,  which  another 
cowboy  held.  Mechanically  Duane  mounted,  felt  a 
lift  as  he  went  up.  Then  the  cowboy’s  hard  face 
softened  in  a smile. 

“I  reckon  it  ain’t  uncivil  of  me  to  say — hit  that 
road  quick!”  he  said,  frankly. 

He  led  the  horse  out  of  the  crowd.  Aiken  joined 
him,  and  between  them  they  escorted  Duane  across 
the  plaza.  The  crowd  appeared  irresistibly  drawn 
to  follow. 

Aiken  paused  with  his  big  hand  on  Duane’s 
knee.  In  it,  unconsciously  probably,  he  still  held 
the  gun. 

“Duane,  a word  with  you,”  he  said.  “I  believe 
you’re  not  so  black  as  you’ve  been  painted.  I wish 
there  was  time  to  say  more.  Tell  me  this,  anyway. 
Do  you  know  the  Ranger  Captain  MacNelly?” 

“I  do  not,”  replied  Duane,  in  surprise. 

“I  met  him  only  a week  ago  over  in  Fairfield,” 
went  on  Aiken,  hurriedly.  “He  declared  you  never 
killed  my  wife.  I didn’t  believe  him — argued  with 
him.  We  almost  had  hard  words  over  it.  Now — 
I’m  sorry.  The  last  thing  he  said  was : ‘If  you  ever 
see  Duane  don’t  kill  him.  Send  him  into  my  camp 
after  dark!’  He  meant  something  strange.  What 
— I can’t  say.  But  he  was  right,  and  I was  wrong. 
If  Lucy  had  batted  an  eye  I’d  have  killed  you. 
Still,  I wouldn't  advise  you  to  hunt  up  MacNelly ’s 
camp.  He’s  clever.  Maybe  he  believes  there’s  no 
treachery  in  his  new  ideas  of  ranger  tactics.  I tell 

192 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


you  for  all  it’s  worth.  Good-by.  May  God  help 
you  further  as  he  did  this  day!” 

Duane  said  good-by  and  touched  the  horse  with 
his  spurs. 

“So  long,  Buck!”  called  Sibert,  with  that  frank 
smile  breaking  warm  over  his  brown  face;  and  he 
held  his  sombrero  high. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


HEN  Duane  reached  the  crossing  of  the  roads 


the  name  Fairfield  on  the  sign-post  seemed  to 
be  the  thing  that  tipped  the  oscillating  balance  of 
decision  in  favor  of  that  direction. 

He  answered  here  to  unfathomable  impulse.  If 
he  had  been  driven  to  hunt  up  Jeff  Aiken,  now  he 
was  called  to  find  this  unknown  ranger  captain. 
In  Duane’s  state  of  mind  clear  reasoning,  common 
sense,  or  keenness  were  out  of  the  question.  Fie 
went  because  he  felt  he  was  compelled. 

Dusk  had  fallen  when  he  rode  into  a town  which 
inquiry  discovered  to  be  Fairfield.  Captain  Mac- 
Nelly’s  camp  was  stationed  just  out  of  the  village 
limits  on  the  other  side. 

No  one  except  the  boy  Duane  questioned  ap- 
peared to  notice  his  arrival.  Like  Shirley,  the  town 
of  Fairfield  was  large  and  prosperous,  compared 
to  the  innumerable  hamlets  dotting  the  vast  extent 
of  southwestern  Texas.  As  Duane  rode  through, 
being  careful  to  get  off  the  main  street,  he  heard 
the  tolling  of  a church-bell  that  was  a melancholy 
reminder  of  his  old  home. 

There  did  not  appear  to  be  any  camp  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town.  But  as  Duane  sat  his  horse,  peer- 
ing around  and  undecided  what  further  move  to 
make,  he  caught  the  glint  of  flickering  lights  through 


194 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


the  darkness.  Heading  toward  them,  he  rode  per- 
haps a quarter  of  a mile  to  come  upon  a grove  of 
mesquite.  The  brightness  of  several  fires  made  the 
surrounding  darkness  all  the  blacker.  Duane  saw 
the  moving  forms  of  men  and  heard  horses.  He 
advanced  naturally,  expecting  any  moment  to  be 
halted. 

“Who  goes  there?”  came  the  sharp  call  out  of  the 

gloom. 

Duane  pulled  his  horse.  The  gloom  was  impene- 
trable. 

“One  man — alone,”  replied  Duane. 

“A  stranger?” 

“Yes.” 

“What  do  you  want?” 

“I’m  trying  to  find  the  ranger  camp.” 

“You’ve  struck  it.  What’s  your  errand?” 

“I  want  to  see  Captain  MacNelly.” 

“Get  down  and  advance.  Slow.  Don’t  move 
your  hands.  It’s  dark,  but  I can  see.” 

Duane  dismounted,  and,  leading  his  horse,  slowly 
advanced  a few  paces.  He  saw  a dully  bright  object 
— a gun — before  he  discovered  the  man  who  held  it. 
A few  more  steps  showed  a dark  figure  blocking  the 
trail.  Here  Duane  halted. 

“Come  closer,  stranger.  Let’s  have  a look  at 
you,”  the  guard  ordered,  curtly. 

Duane  advanced  again  until  he  stood  before  the 
man.  Here  the  rays  of  light  from  the  fires  flickered 
upon  Duane’s  face. 

“Reckon  you’re  a stranger,  all  right.  What’s 
your  name  and  your  business  with  the  Captain?” 
Duane- hesitated,  pondering  what  best  to  say. 
i95 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


"Tell  Captain  MacNelly  I’m  the  man  he’s  been 
asking  to  ride  into  his  camp — after  dark,”  finally 
said  Duane. 

The  ranger  bent  forward  to  peer  hard  at  this  night 
visitor.  His  manner  had  been  alert,  and  now  it  be- 
came tense. 

"Come  here,  one  of  you  men,  quick,”  he  called, 
without  turning  in  the  least  toward  the  camp-fire. 

"Hello!  What’s  up,  Pickens?”  came  the  swift 
reply.  It  was  followed  by  a rapid  thud  of  boots  on 
soft  ground.  A dark  form  crossed  the  gleams  from 
the  fire-light.  Then  a ranger  loomed  up  to  /each 
the  side  of  the  guard.  Duane  heard  whispering,  the 
purport  of  which  he  could  not  catch.  The  second 
ranger  swore  under  his  breath.  Then  he  turned 
away  and  started  back.  - 

"Here,  ranger,  before  you  go,  understand  this. 
My  visit  is  peaceful — friendly  if  you’ll  let  it  be. 
Mind,  I was  asked  to  come  here — after  dark.” 

Duane’s  clear,  penetrating  voice  carried  far.  The 
listening  rangers  at  the  camp-fire  heard  what  he  said. 

"Ho,  Pickens!  Tell  that  fellow  to  wait,”  replied 
an  authoritative  voice.  Then  a slim  figure  detached 
itself  from  the  dark,  moving  group  at  the  camp-fire 
and  hurried  out. 

"Better  be  foxy.  Cap,”  shouted  a ranger,  in 

warning. 

"Shut  up-— all  of  you,”  was  the  reply. 

This  officer,  obviously  Captain  MacNelly,  soon 
joined  the  two  rangers  who  were  confronting  Duane. 
He  had  no  fear.  He  strode  straight  up  to  Duane. 

‘I’m  MacNelly,”  he  said.  "If  you’re  my  man, 
don’t  mention  your  name — yet.” 

196 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


All  this  seemed  so  strange  to  Duane,  in  keeping 
with  much  that  had  happened  lately. 

“I  met  Jeff  Aiken  to-day,”  said  Duane.  “He 
sent  me — ” 

“You’ve  met  Aiken!”  exclaimed  MacNelly,  sharp, 
eager,  low.  ‘‘By  all  that’s  bully!”  Then  he  ap- 
peared to  catch  himself,  to  grow  restrained. 

“Men,  fall  back,  leave  us  alone  a moment.” 

The  rangers  slowly  withdrew. 

“Buck  Duane!  It’s  you?”  he  whispered,  eagerly. 

“Yes.” 

“If  I give  my  word  you’ll  not  be  arrested — you’ll 
be  treated  fairly — will  you  come  into  camp  and  con- 
sult with  me?” 

“Certainly.” 

“Duane,  I’m  sure  glad  to  meet  you,”  went  on 
MacNelly;  and  he  extended  his  hand. 

Amazed  and  touched,  scarcely  realizing  this  actu- 
ality, Duane  gave  his  hand  and  felt  no  unmistakable 
grip  of  warmth. 

“It  doesn’t  seem  natural,  Captain  MacNelly,  but 
I believe  I’m  glad  to  meet  you,”  said  Duane,  soberly. 

“You  will  be.  Now  we’ll  go  back  to  camp.  Keep 
your  identity  mum  for  the  present.” 

He  led  Duane  in  the  direction  of  the  camp-fire. 

“Pickens,  go  back  on  duty,”  he  ordered,  “and, 
Beeson,  you  look  after  this  horse.” 

When  Duane  got  beyond  the  line  of  mesquite, 
which  had  hid  a good  view  of  the  camp-site,  he  saw 
a group  of  perhaps  fifteen  rangers  sitting  around  the 
fires,  near  a long  low  shed  vrhere  horses  were  feeding, 
and  a small  adobe  house  at  one  side. 

“We’ve  just  had  grub,  but  I’ll  see  you  get  some. 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Then  we’ll  talk,”  said  MacNelly.  “I’ve  taken  up 
temporary  quarters  here.  Have  a rustler  job  on 
hand.  Now,  when  you’ve  eaten,  come  right  into 

the  house.” 

Duane  was  hungry,  but  he  hurried  through  the 
ample  supper  that  was  set  before  him,  urged  on  by 
curiosity  and  astonishment.  The  only  way  he 
could  account  for  his  presence  there  in  a ranger’s 
camp  was  that  MacNelly  hoped  to  get  useful  in- 
formation out  of  him.  Still  that  would  hardly 
have  made  this  captain  so  eager.  There  was  a 
mystery  here,  and  Duane  could  scarcely  wait  for  it 
to  be  solved.  While  eating  he  had  bent  keen  eyes 
around  him.  After  a first  quiet  scrutiny  the  rangers 
apparently  paid  no  more  attention  to  him.  They 
were  all  veterans  in  service — Duane  saw  that — and 
rugged,  powerful  men  of  iron  constitution.  De- 
spite the  occasional  joke  and  sally  of  the  more  youth- 
ful members,  and  a general  conversation  of  camp- 
fire nature,  Duane  was  not  deceived  about  the  fact 
that  his  advent  had  been  an  unusual  and  striking 
one,  which  had  caused  an  undercurrent  of  conjec- 
ture and  even  consternation  among  them.  These 
rangers  were  too  well  trained  to  appear  openly 
curious  about  their  captain’s  guest.  If  they  had 
not  deliberately  attempted  to  be  oblivious  of  his 
presence  Duane  would  have  concluded  they  thought 
him  an  ordinary  visitor,  somehow  of  use  to  Mac- 
Nelly. As  it  was,  Duane  felt  a suspense  that  must 
have  been  due  to  a hint  of  his  identity. 

He  was  not  long  in  presenting  himself  at  the  door 
of  the  house. 

“Come  in  and  have  a chair,”  said  MacNelly. 

198 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

motioning  for  the  one  other  occupant  of  the  room 
to  rise.  “Leave  us,  Russell,  and  close  the  door. 
I’ll  be  through  these  reports  right  off.” 

MacNelly  sat  at  a table  upon  which  was  a lamp 
and  various  papers.  Seen  in  the  light  he  was  a fine- 
looking,  soldierly  man  of  about  forty  years,  dark- 
haired and  dark-eyed,  with  a bronzed  face,  shrewd, 
stern,  strong,  yet  not  wanting  in  kindliness.  He 
scanned  hastily  over  some  papers,  fussed  with  them, 
and  finally  put  them  in  envelopes.  Without  look- 
ing up  he  pushed  a cigar-case  toward  Duane,  and 
upon  Duane’s  refusal  to  smoke  he  took  a cigar,  rose 
to  light  it  at  the  lamp-chimney,  and  then,  settling 
back  in  his  chair,  he  faced  Duane,  making  a vain 
attempt  to  hide  what  must  have  been  the  fulfil- 
ment of  a long-nourished  curiosity. 

“Duane,  I’ve  been  hoping  for  this  for  two  years,” 
he  began. 

Duane  smiled  a little — a smile  that  felt  strange 
on  his  face.  He  had  never  been  much  of  a talker. 
And  speech  here  seemed  more  than  ordinarily  diffi- 
cult. 

MacNelly  must  have  felt  that. 

He  looked  long  and  earnestly  at  Duane,  and  his 
quick,  nervous  manner  changed  to  grave  thought- 
fulness. 

“I’ve  lots  to  say,  but  where  to  begin,”  he  mused. 
“Duane,  you’ve  had  a hard  life  since  you  went  on 
the  dodge.  I never  met  you  before,  don’t  know 
what  you  looked  like  as  a boy.  But  I can  see 
what — well,  even  ranger  life  isn’t  all  roses.” 

He  rolled  his  cigar  between  his  lips  and  puffed 
clouds  of  smoke. 


199 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“Ever  hear  from  home  since  you  left  WeHston?” 
he  asked,  abruptly. 

“No.” 

“Never  a word?” 

“Not  one,”  replied  Duane,  sadly. 

“That’s  tough.  I’m  glad  to  be  able  to  tell  you 
that  up  to  just  lately  your  mother,  sister,  uncle — ail 
your  folks,  I believe — were  well.  I’ve  kept  posted. 
But  haven’t  heard  lately.” 

Duane  averted  his  face  a moment,  hesitated  till 
the  swelling  left  his  throat,  and  then  said,  “It’s 
worth  what  I went  through  to-day  to  hear  that.” 
“I  can  imagine  how  you  feel  about  it.  When  I 
was  in  the  war — but  let’s  get  down  to  the  business 
of  this  meeting.” 

He  pulled  his  chair  close  to  Duane’s. 

“You’ve  had  word  more  than  once  in  the  last 
two  years  that  I wanted  to  see  you?” 

“Three  times,  I remember,”  replied  Duane. 
“Why  didn’t  you  hunt  me  up?” 

“I  supposed  you  imagined  me  one  of  those  gun- 
fighters  who  couldn’t  take  a dare  and  expected  me 
to  ride  up  to  your  camp  and  be  arrested.” 

“That  was  natural,  I suppose,”  went  on  MacNelly. 
“You  didn’t  know1  me,  otherwise  you  would  have 
come.  I’ve  been  a long  time  getting  to  you.  But 
the  nature  of  my  job,  as  far  as  you’re  concerned, 
made  me  cautious.  Duane,  you’re  aware  of  the 
hard  name  you  bear  all  over  the  Southwest?” 
“Once  in  a while  I’m  jarred  into  realizing,”  re- 
plied Duane. 

“It’s  the  hardest,  barring  Murrell  and  Cheseldine, 
on  the  Texas  border.  But  there’s  this  difference. 

200 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Morrell  in  his  day  was  known  to  deserve  his  in- 
famous name.  Cheseldine  in  his  day  also.  But 
I’ve  found  hundreds  of  men  in  southwest  Texas 
who  ’re  your  friends,  who  swear  you  never  committed 
a crime.  The  farther  south  I get  the  clearer  this 
becomes.  What  I want  to  know  is  the  truth.  Have 
you  ever  done  anything  criminal?  Tell  me  the 
truth,  Duane.  It  won’t  make  any  difference  in 
my  plan.  And  when  I say  crime  I mean  what  1 
would  call  crime,  or  any  reasonable  Texan.” 

“That  way  my  hands  are  clean,”  replied  Duane. 

“You  never  held  up  a man,  robbed  a store  for 
grub,  stole  a horse  when  you  needed  him  bad — 
never  anything  like  that?” 

“Somehow7  I always  kept  out  of  that,  just  when 
pressed  the  hardest.” 

“Duane,  I’m  damn  glad!”  MacNelly  exclaimed, 
gripping  Duane’s  hand.  “Glad  for  your  mother’s 
sake!  But,  all  the  same,  in  spite  of  this,  you  are  a 
Texas  outlaw  accountable  to  the  state.  You’re  per- 
fectly aware  that  under  existing  circumstances,  if 
you  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  law,  you’d  probably 
hang,  at  least  go  to  jail  for  a long  term.” 

“That’s  what  kept  me  on  the  dodge  all  these  years,” 
replied  Duane. 

“Certainly.”  MacNelly  removed  his  cigar.  His 
eyes  narrowed  and  glittered.  The  muscles  along 
his  brown  cheeks  set  hard  and  tense.  He  leaned 
closer  to  Duane,  laid  sinewy,  pressing  fingers  upon 
Duane’s  knee. 

“Listen  to  this,”  he  whispered,  hoarsely.  “If  I 
place  a pardon  in  your  hand — make  you  a free, 
honest  citizen  once  more,  clear  your  name  of  in- 

201 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


famy,  make  your  mother,  your  sister  proud  of  you 
— will  you  swear  yourself  to  a service,  any  service 
I demand  of  you?” 

Duane  sat  stock  still,  stunned. 

Slowly,  more  persuasively,  with  show  of  earnest 
agitation,  Captain  MacNelly  reiterated  his  startling 
query. 

‘‘My  God!”  burst  from  Duane.  “What’s  this? 
MacNelly,  you  can't  be  in  earnest!” 

“Never  more  so  in  my  life.  I’ve  a deep  game. 
I’m  playing  it  square.  What  do  you  say?” 

He  rose  to  his  feet.  Duane,  as  if  impelled,  rose 
with  him.  Ranger  and  outlaw  then  locked  eyes  that 
searched  each  other’s  souls.  In  MacNelly’s  Duane 
read  truth,  strong,  fiery  purpose,  hope,  even  glad- 
ness, and  a fugitive  mounting  assurance  of  victory. 

Twice  Duane  endeavored  to  speak,  failed  of  all 
save  a hoarse,  incoherent  sound,  until,  forcing  back 
a flood  of  speech,  he  found  a voice. 

“Any  service?  Every  service!  MacNelly,  I give 
my  word,”  said  Duane. 

A light  played  over  MacNelly’s  face,  warming  out 
all  the  grim  darkness.  He  held  out  his  hand.  Duane 
met  it  with  his  in  a clasp  that  men  unconsciously 
give  in  moments  of  stress. 

When  they  unclasped  and  Duane  stepped  back  to 
drop  into  a chair  MacNelly  fumbled  for  another 
cigar — -he  had  bitten  the  other  into  shreds — and, 
lighting  it  as  before,  he  turned  to  his  visitor,  now  calm 
and  cool.  He  had  the  look  of  a man  who  had  justly 
won  something  at  considerable  cost.  His  next  move 
was  to  take  a long  leather  case  from  his  pocket  and 
extract  from  it  several  folded  papers. 

202 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“Here’s  your  pardon  from  the  Governor,”  he  said, 
quietly.  “You’ll  see,  when  you  look  it  over,  that  it’s 
conditional.  "When  you  sign  this  paper  I have  here 
the  condition  will  be  met.” 

He  smoothed  out  the  paper,  handed  Duane  a pen, 
ran  his  forefinger  along  a dotted  line. 

Duane’s  hand  was  shaky.  Years  had  passed  since 
he  had  held  a pen.  It  was  with  difficulty  that 
he  achieved  his  signature.  Buckley  Duane— how 
strange  the  name  looked  1 

“Right  here  ends  the  career  of  Buck  Duane,  out- 
law and  gun-fighter,”  said  MacNelly;  and,  seating 
himself,  he  took  the  pen  from  Duane’s  fingers  and 
wrote  several  lines  in  several  places  upon  the  paper. 
Then  with  a smile  he  handed  it  to  Duane. 

“That  makes  you  a member  of  Company  A, 
Texas  Rangers.” 

“So  that’s  it!”  burst  out  Duane,  a light  breaking 
in  upon  his  bewilderment.  “You  want  me  for  ranger 
service?” 

“Sure.  That’s  it,”  replied  the  Captain,  dryly. 
“Now  to  hear  what  that  service  is  to  be.  I’ve  been 
a busy  man  since  I took  this  job,  and,  as  you  may 
have  heard,  I’ve  done  a few  things.  I don’t  mind 
telling  you  that  political  influence  put  me  in  here 
and  that  up  Austin  way  there’s  a good  deal  of  fric- 
tion in  the  Department  of  State  in  regard  to  whether 
or  not  the  ranger  service  is  any  good — whether  it 
should  be  discontinued  or  not.  I’m  on  the  party 
side  who’s  defending  the  ranger  service.  I contend 
that  it’s  made  Texas  habitable.  Well,  it’s  been  up 
to  me  to  produce  results.  So  far  I have  been  success- 
ful. My  great  ambition  is  to  break  up  the  outlaw 

14  20* 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

gangs  along  the  river.  I have  never  ventured  in 
there  yet  because  I’ve  been  waiting  to  get  the  lieu- 
tenant I needed.  You,  of  course,  are  the  man  I had 
in  mind.  It’s  my  idea  to  start  way  up  the  Rio  Grande 
and  begin  with  Gheseldine.  He’s  the  strongest,  the 
worst  outlaw  of  the  times.  He’s  more  than  rustler. 
It’s  Cheseldine  and  his  gang  who  are  operating  on 
the  banks.  They’re  doing  bank-robbing.  That’s 
my  private  opinion,  but  it’s  not  been  backed  up  by 
any  evidence.  Cheseldine  doesn’t  leave  evidences. 
He’s  intelligent,  cunning.  No  one  seems  to  have 
seen  him-— to  know  what  he  looks  like.  I assume,  of 
course,  that  you  are  a stranger  to  the  country  he 
dominates.  It’s  five  hundred  miles  west  of  your 
ground.  There’s  a little  town  over  there  called  Fair- 
dale.  It’s  the  nest  of  a rustler  gang.  They  rustle 
and  murder  at  will.  Nobody  knows  who  the  leader 
is.  I want  you  to  find  out.  Well,  whatever  way  you 
decide  is  best  you  will  proceed  to  act  upon.  You 
are  your  own  boss.  You  know  such  men  and  how 
they  can  be  approached.  You  will  take  all  the  time 
needed,  if  it’s  months.  It  will  be  necessary  for  you 
to  communicate  with  me,  and  that  will  be  a difficult 
matter.  For  Cheseldine  dominates  several  whole 
counties.  You  must  find  some  way  to  let  me  know 
when  I and  my  rangers  are  needed.  The  plan  is  to 
break  up  Cheseldine’s  gang.  It’s  the  toughest  job 
on  the  border.  Arresting  him  alone  isn’t  to  be  heard 
of.  He  couldn’t  be  brought  out.  Killing  him  isn’t 
much  better,  for  his  select  men,  the  ones  he  operates 
with,  are  as  dangerous  to  the  community  as  he  is. 
We  want  to  kill  or  jail  this  choice  selection  of  robbers 
and  break  up  the  rest  of  the  gang.  To  find  them,  to 

304 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


get  among  them  somehow,  to  learn  their  movements, 
to  lay  your  trap  for  us  rangers  to  spring — that, 
Duane,  is  your  service  to  me,  and  God  knows  it’s 
a great  one!” 

“I  have  accepted  it,”  replied  Duane. 

‘‘Your  work  will  be  secret.  You  are  now  a ranger 
in  my  service.  But  no  one  except  the  few  I choose 
to  tell  will  know  of  it  until  we  pull  off  the  job.  You- 
will  simply  be  Buck  Duane  till  it  suits  our  purpose 
to  acquaint  Texas  with  the  fact  that  you’re  a ranger. 
You’ll  see  there’s  no  date  on  that  paper.  No  one 
will  ever  know  just  when  you  entered  the  service. 
Perhaps  we  can  make  it  appear  that  all  or  most  of 
your  outlawry  has  really  been  good  service  to  the 
state.  At  that,  I’ll  believe  it  ’ll  turn  out  so.” 

MacNelly  paused  a moment  in  his  rapid  talk, 
chewed  his  cigar,  drew  his  brows  together  in  a dark 
frown,  and  went  on.  “No  man  on  the  border  knows 
so  well  as  you  the  deadly  nature  of  this  sendee.  It’s 
a thousand  to  one  that  you’ll  be  killed.  I’d  say 
there  was  no  chance  at  all  for  any  other  man  beside 
you.  Your  reputation  will  go  far  among  the  out- 
laws. Maybe  that  and  your  nerve  and  your  gun- 
play will  pull  you  through.  I’m  hoping  so.  But 
it’s  a long,  long  chance  against  your  ever  coming 
back.” 

“That’s  not  the  point,”  said  Duane.  “But  in 
case  I get  killed  out  there — what — ” 

“Leave  that  to  me,”  interrupted  Captain  Mac- 
Nelly.  “ You  folks  will  know  at  once  of  your  par- 
don and  your  ranger  duty.  If  you  lose  your  life 
out  there  I’ll  see  your  name  cleared — the  sendee  you 
render  known.  You  can  rest  assured  of  that.” 

205 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

‘ ‘ I am  satisfied,  ’ ’ replied  Duane.  ‘ ‘ That’s  so  much 
more  than  I’ve  dared  to  hope.” 

“Well,  it’s  settled,  then.  I’ll  give  you  money  for 
expenses.  You’ll  start  as  soon  as  you  like — the  sooner 
the  better.  I hope  to  think  of  other  suggestions, 
especially  about  communicating  with  me.” 

Long  after  the  lights  were  out  and  the  low  hum 
of  voices  had  ceased  round  the  camp-fire  Duane  lay 
wide  awake,  eyes  staring  into  the  blackness,  marvel- 
ing over  the  strange  events  of  the  day.  He  was 
humble,  grateful  to  the  depths  of  his  soul.  A huge 
and  crushing  burden  had  been  lifted  from  his  heart. 
He  welcomed  this  hazardous  service  to  the  man 
who  had  saved  him.  Thought  of  his  mother  and 
sister  and  Uncle  Jim,  of  his  home,  of  old  friends 
came  rushing  over  him  the  first  time  in  years  that 
he  had  happiness  in  the  memory.  The  disgrace  he 
had  put  upon  them  would  now  be  removed;  and  in 
the  light  of  that,  his  wasted  life  of  the  past,  and  its 
probable  tragic  end  in  future  service  as  atonement 
changed  their  aspects.  And  as  he  lay  there,  with 
the  approach  of  sleep  finally  dimming  the  vividness 
of  his  thought,  so  full  of  mystery,  shadowy  faces 
floated  in  the  blackness  around  him,  haunting  him 
as  he  had  always  been  haunted. 

It  was  broad  daylight  when  he  awakened.  Mac- 
Nelly  was  calling  him  to  breakfast.  Outside  sounded 
voices  of  men,  crackling  of  fires,  snorting  and  stamp- 
ing of  horses,  the  barking  of  dogs.  Duane  rolled  out 
of  his  blankets  and  made  good  use  of  the  soap  and 
towel  and  razor  and  brush  near  by  on  a bench — 
things  of  rare  luxury  to  an  outlaw  on  the  ride.  The 
face  he  saw  in  the  mirror  was  as  strange  as  the  past 

206 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


he  had  tried  so  hard  to  recall.  Then  he  stepped  to 
the  door  and  went  out. 

The  rangers  were  eating  in  a circle  round  a tar- 
paulin spread  upon  the  ground. 

“Fellows,”  said  MacNelly,  “shake  hands  with 
Buck  Duane.  He’s  on  secret  ranger  service  for  me. 
Service  that  ’ll  likely  make  you  all  hump  soon! 
Mind  you.  keep  mum  about  it.” 

The  rangers  surprised  Duane  with  a roaring  greet- 
ing, the  warmth  of  which  he  soon  divined  was  di- 
vided between  pride  of  his  acquisition  to  their  ranks 
and  eagerness  to  meet  that  violent  service  of  which 
their  captain  hinted.  They  were  jolly  wild  fellows, 
with  just  enough  gravity  in  their  welcome  to  show 
Duane  their  respect  and  appreciation,  while  not  for- 
getting his  lone-wolf  record.  When  he  had  seated 
himself  in  that  circle,  now  one  of  them,  a feeling 
subtle  and  uplifting  pervaded  him. 

After  the  meal  Captain  MacNelly  drew  Duane  aside. 

“Here’s  the  money.  Make  it  go  as  far  as  you  can. 
Better  strike  straight  for  El  Paso,  snook  around 
there  and  hear  things.  Then  go  to  Valentine.  That’s 
near  the  river  and  within  fifty  miles  or  so  of  the  edge 
of  the  Rim  Rock.  Somewhere  up  there  Cheseldine 
holds  fort.  Somewhere  to  the  north  is  the  town 
Fairdale.  But  he  doesn’t  hide  all  the  time  in  the 
rocks.  Only  after  some  daring  raid  or  hold-up. 
Cheseldine’s  got  border  towns  on  his  staff,  or  scared 
of  him,  and  these  places  we  want  to  know  about, 
especially  Fairdale.  Write  me  care  of  the  adjutant 
at  Austin.  I don’t  have  to  warn  you  to  be  careful 
where  you  mail  letters.  Ride  a hundred,  two  hun- 
dred miles,  if  necessary,  or  go  clear  to  El  Paso.” 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


MacNeUy  stopped  with  an  air  of  finality,  and 
iifcen  Duane  slowly  rose. 

“I’ll  start  at  once,”  he  said,  extending  his  hand 
to  the  Captain.  “I  wish — I’d  like  to  thank  you!” 
“Hell,  man!  Don’t  thank  me!”  replied  MacNelly, 
crushing  the  proffered  hand.  “I’ve  sent  a lot  of 
good  men  to  their  deaths,  and  maybe  you’re  another. 
But,  as  I’ve  said,  you’ve  one  chance  in  a thousand. 
And,  by  Heaven!  I’d  hate  to  be  Cheseldine  or  any 
other  man  you  were  trailing.  No,  not  good-by — 
Adios,  Duane!  May  we  meet  again!” 


Book  II 


THE  RANGER 


CHAPTER  XV 


TEST  of  the  Pecos  River  Texas  extended  a 


vast  wild  region,  barren  in  the  north,  wh&re 
the  Llano  Estacado  spread  its  shifting  sands,  fertile 
in  the  south  along  the  Rio  Grande,  A railroad 
marked  an  undeviating  course  across  five  hundred 
miles  of  this  country,  and  the  only  villages  and  towns 
lay  on  or  near  this  line  of  steel.  Unsettled  as  was 
this  western  Texas,  and  despite  the  acknowledged 
dominance  of  the  outlaw  bands,  the  pioneers  pushed 
steadily  into  it.  First  had  come  the  lone  rancher; 
then  his  neighbors  in  near  and  far  valleys;  then  the 
hamlets;  at  last  the  railroad  and  the  towns.  And 
still  the  pioneers  came,  spreading  deeper  into  the 
valleys,  farther  and  wider  over  the  plains.  It  was 
mesquite-dotted,  cactus- covered  desert,  but  rich  soil 
upon  which  water  acted  like  magic.  There  was  little 
grass  to  an  acre,  but  there  were  millions  of  acres. 
The  climate  was  wonderful.  Cattle  flourished  and 
ranchers  prospered. 

The  Rio  Grande  flowed  almost  due  south  along 
the  western  boundary  for  a thousand  miles,  and 
then,  weary  of  its  course,  turned  abruptly  north, 
to  make  what  was  called  the  Big  Bend.  The  rail- 
road, running  west,  cut  across  this  bend,  and  all 
that  country  bounded  on  the  north  by  the  railroad 
and  on  the  south  by  the  river  was  as  wild  as  the 


2X1 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

Staked  Plains.  It  contained  not  one  settlement. 
Across  the  face  of  this  Big  Bend,  as  if  to  isolate  it, 
stretched  the  Ord  mountain  range,  of  which  Mount 
Ord,  Cathedral  Mount,  and  Elephant  Mount  raised 
bleak  peaks  above  their  fellows.  In  the  valleys  of 
the  foothills  and  out  across  the  plains  were  ranches, 
and  farther  north,  villages,  and  the  towns  of  Alpine 
and  Marfa. 

Like  other  parts  of  the  great  Lone  Star  State, 
this  section  of  Texas  was  a world  in  itself — a world 
where  the  riches  of  the  rancher  were  ever  enriching 
the  outlaw.  The  village  closest  to  the  gateway  of 
this  outlaw-infested  region  was  a little  place  called 
Ord,  named  after  the  dark  peak  that  loomed  some 
miles  to  the  south.  It  had  been  settled  originally  by 
Mexicans — there  were  still  the  ruins  of  adobe  mis- 
sions— but  with  the  advent  of  the  rustler  and  out- 
law many  inhabitants  were  shot  or  driven  away,  so 
that  at  the  height  of  Ord’s  prosperity  and  evil  sway 
there  were  but  few  Mexicans  living  there,  and  these 
had  their  choice  between  holding  hand-and-glove 
with  the  outlaws  or  furnishing  target  practice  for 
that  wild  element. 

Toward  the  close  of  a day  in  September  a stranger 
rode  into  Ord,  and  in  a community  where  all  men 
were  remarkable  for  one  reason  or  another  he  excited 
interest.  His  horse,  perhaps,  received  the  first  and 
most  engaging  attention — horses  in  that  region  being 
apparently  more  important  than  men.  This  par- 
ticular horse  did  not  attract  with  beauty.  At  first 
glance  he  seemed  ugly.  But  he  was  a giant,  black 
as  coal,  rough  despite  the  care  manifestly  bestowed 
upon  him,  long  of  body,  ponderous  of  limb,  huge 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


in  every  way.  A bystander  remarked  that  he  had 
a grand  head.  True,  if  only  his  head  had  been 
seen  he  would  have  been  a beautiful  horse.  Like 
men,  horses  show  what  they  are  in  the  shape,  the 
size,  the  Bne,  the  character  of  the  head.  This  one 
denoted  fire,  speed,  blood,  loyalty,  and  his  eyes 
were  as  soft  and  dark  as  a woman’s.  His  face 
was  solid  black,  except  in  the  middle  of  his  fore- 
head, where  there  was  a round  spot  of  white. 

“Say  mister,  mind  tellin’  me  his  name?”  asked  a 
ragged  urchin,  with  bom  love  of  a horse  in  his  eyes. 

“Bullet,”  replied  the  rider. 

“Thet  there’s  fer  the  white  mark,  ain’t  it?”  whis- 
pered the  youngster  to  another.  “Say,  ain’t  he  a 
whopper?  Biggest  hoss  I ever  seen.” 

Bullet  carried  a huge  black  silver-ornamented  sad- 
dle of  Mexican  make,  a lariat  and  canteen,  and  a 
small  pack  rolled  into  a tarpaulin. 

This  rider  apparently  put  all  care  of  appearances 
upon  his  horse.  His  apparel  was  the  ordinary  jeans 
of  the  cowboy  without  vanity,  and  it  was  torn  and 
travel-stained.  His  boots  showed  evidence  of  an 
intimate  acquaintance  with  cactus.  Like  his  horse, 
this  man  was  a giant  in  stature,  but  rangier,  not 
so  heavily  built.  Otherwise  the  only  striking  thing 
about  him  was  his  somber  face  with  its  piercing  eyes, 
and  hair  white  over  the  temples.  He  packed  two 
guns,  both  low  down — but  that  was  too  common  a 
thing  to  attract  notice  in  the  Big  Bend.  A close 
observer,  however,  would  have  noted  a singular  fact 
— this  rider’s  right  hand  was  more  bronzed,  more 
weather-beaten  than  his  left.  He  never  wore  a glove 
on  that  right  hand! 


213 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


He  had  dismounted  before  a ramshackle  structure 
that  bore  upon  its  wide,  high-boarded  front  the 
sign,  “Hotel.”  There  were  horsemen  coming  and 
going  down  the  wide  street  between  its  rows  of  old 
stores,  saloons,  and  houses.  Ord  certainly  did  not 
look  enterprising.  Americans  had  manifestly  assimi- 
lated much  of  the  leisure  of  the  Mexicans.  The 
hotel  had  a wide  platform  in  front,  and  this  did  duty 
as  porch  and  sidewalk.  Upon  it,  and  leaning  against 
a hitching-rail,  were  men  of  varying  ages,  most  of 
them  slovenly  in  old  jeans  and  slouched  sombreros. 
Some  were  booted,  belted,  and  spurred.  No  man 
there  wore  a coat,  but  all  wore  vests.  The  guns  in 
that  group  would  have  outnumbered  the  men. 

It  was  a crowd  seemingly  too  lazy  to  be  curious. 
Good  nature  did  not  appear  to  be  wanting,  but  it 
was  not  the  frank  and  boisterous  kind  natural  to 
the  cowboy  or  rancher  in  town  fra  day.  These 
men  were  idlers;  what  else,  perhaps,  was  easy  to 
conjecture.  Certainly  to  this  arriving  stranger,  who 
flashed  a keen  eye  over  them,  they  wore  an  atmos- 
phere never  associated  with  work. 

Presently  a tall  man,  with  a drooping,  sandy  mus- 
tache, leisurely  detached  himself  from  the  crowd. 

“Howdy,  stranger,”  he  said. 

The  stranger  had  bent  over  to  loosen  the  cinches; 
he  straightened  up  and  nodded.  Then : ‘ ‘I’m  thirsty !’ ’ 

That  brought  a broad  smile  to  faces.  It  was 
characteristic  greeting.  One  and  all  trooped  after 
the  stranger  into  the  hotel.  It  was  a dark,  ill-smelling 
barn  of  a place,  with  a bar  as  high  as  a short  man’s 
head.  A bartender  with  a scarred  face  was  serving 
drinks. 


214 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“line  up,  gents,”  said  the  stranger. 

They  piled  over  one  another  to  get  to  the  bar. 
with  coarse  jests  and  oaths  and  laughter.  None 
of  them  noted  that  the  stranger  did  not  appear  so 
thirsty  as  he  had  claimed  to  be.  In  fact,  though 
he  went  through  the  motions,  he  did  not  drink  at  all. 

• “My  name’s  Jim  Fletcher,”  said  the  tall  man  with 
the  drooping,  sandy  mustache.  He  spoke  laconically, 
nevertheless  there  was  a tone  that  showed  he  expect- 
ed to  be  known.  Something  went  with  that  name. 
The  stranger  did  not  appear  to  be  impressed. 

“My  name  might  be  Blazes,  but  it  ain’t,”  he 
replied.  “What  do  you  call  this  burg?” 

“Stranger,  this  heah  me-tropoles  bears  the  handle 
Ord.  Is  thet  new  to  you?” 

He  leaned  back  against  the  bar,  and  now  his  little 
yellow  eyes,  clear  as  crystal,  flawless  as  a hawk’s, 
fixed  on  the  stranger.  Other  men  crowded  close, 
forming  a circle,  curious,  ready  to  be  friendly  or 
otherwise,  according  to  how  the  tall  interrogator 
marked  the  new-comer. 

“Sure,  Ord’s  a little  strange  to  me.  Off  the  rail- 
road some,  ain’t  it?  Funny  trails  hereabouts.” 
“How  fur  was  you  goin’?” 

“I  reckon  I was  goin’  as  far  as  I could,”  replied 
the  stranger,  with  a hard  laugh. 

His  reply  had  subtle  reaction  on  that  listening 
circle.  Some  of  the  men  exchanged  glances.  Fletcher 
stroked  his  drooping  mustache,  seemed  thoughtful, 
but  lost  something  of  that  piercing  scrutiny. 

“Wal,  Ord’s  the  jumpin’-off  place,”  he  said,  pres- 
ently. “Sure  you’ve  heerd  of  the  Big  Bend  coun- 
try?” 


215 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“I  sure  have,  an’ 'was  makin’  tracks  fer  it,”  re- 
plied the  stranger. 

Fletcher  turned  toward  a man  in  the  outer  edge 
of  the  group.  ‘‘Knell,  come  in  heah.” 

This  individual  elbowed  his  way  in  and  was  seen 
to  be  scarcely  more  than  a boy,  almost  pale  beside 
those  bronzed  men,  with  a long,  expressionless  face, 
thin  and  sharp. 

“Knell,  this  heah’s — ” Fletcher  wheeled  to  the 
stranger.  “What ’d  you  call  yourself?” 

“I’d  hate  to  mention  what  I’ve  been  callin’  myself 
lately.” 

This  sally  fetched  another  laugh.  The  stranger 
appeared  cool,  careless,  indifferent.  Perhaps  he 
knew,  as  the  others  present  knew,  that  this  show  of 
Fletcher’s,  this  pretense  of  introduction,  was  merely 
talk  while  he  was  looked  over. 

Knell  stepped  up,  and  it  was  easy  to  see,  from 
the  way  Fletcher  relinquished  his  part  in  the  situa- 
tion, that  a man  greater  than  he  had  appeared  upon 
the  scene. 

“Any  business  here?”  he  queried,  curtly.  When 
he  spoke  his  expressionless  face  was  in  strange  con- 
trast with  the  ring,  the  quality,  the  cruelty  of  his 
voice.  This  voice  betrayed  an  absence  of  humor,  of 
friendliness,  of  heart. 

“Nope,”  replied  the  stranger. 

“Know  anybody  hereabouts?” 

“Nary  one.” 

“Jest  ridin’  through?” 

“Yep.” 

“Slopin’  fer  back  country,  eh?” 

There  came  a pause.  The  stranger  appeared  to 

2l6 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


grow  a little  resentful  and  drew  himself  up  dis- 
dainfully. 

“Wal,  considerin’  you-all  seem  so  damn  friendly 
an’  oncurious  down  here  in  this  Big  Bend  country, 
I don’t  mind  savin’  yes — I am  in  on  the  dodge,”  he 
replied,  with  deliberate  sarcasm. 

‘‘From  west  of  Ord — out  El  Paso  way,  mebbe?” 

‘‘Sure.” 

‘‘A-huh!  Thet  so?”  Knell’s  words  cut  the  air, 
stilled  the  room.  ' “You’re  from  way  down  the  river. 
Thet’s  what  they  say  down  there — ‘on  the  dodge.’ 
. . . Stranger,  you’re  a liar!” 

With  swift  clink  of  spur  and  thump  of  boot  the 
crowd  split,  leaving  Knell  and  the  stranger  in  the 
center. 

Wild  breed  of  that  ilk  never  made  a mistake  in 
judging  a man’s  nerve.  Knell  had  cut  out  with  the 
trenchant  call,  and  stood  ready.  The  stranger  sud- 
denly lost  his  every  semblance  to  the  rough  and 
easy  character  before  manifest  in  him.  He  became 
bronze.  That  situation  seemed  familiar  to  him. 
His  eyes  held  a singular  piercing  light  that  danced 
like  a compass-needle. 

“Sure  I lied,”  he  said;  “so  I ain’t  takin’  offense 
at  the  way  you  called  me.  I’m  lookin’  to  make 
friends,  not  enemies.  You  don’t  strike  me  as  one 
of  them  four-flushes,  achin’  to  kill  somebody.  But 
if  you  are — go  ahead  an’  open  the  ball.  . . .You 
see,  I never  throw  a gun  on  them  fellers  till  they 
go  fer  theirs.” 

Knell  coolly  eyed  his  antagonist,  his  strange  face 
not  changing  in  the  least.  Yet  somehow  it  was 
evident  in  his  look  that  here  was  metal  which  rang 

217 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


differently  from  what  he  had  expected.  Invited  to 
start  a fight  or  withdraw,  as  he  chose,  Knell  proved 
himself  big  in  the  manner  characteristic  of  only 
the  genuine  gunman. 

“Stranger,  I pass,”  he  said,  and,  turning  to  the 
bar,  he  ordered  liquor. 

The  tension  relaxed,  the  silence  broke,  the  men 
filled  up  the  gap;  the  incident  seemed  closed.  Jim 
Fletcher  attached  himself  to  the  stranger,  and  now 
both  respect  and  friendliness  tempered  his  asperity. 

“Wal,  fer  want  of  a better  handle  I’ll  call  you 
Dodge,”  he  said. 

“Dodge’s  as  good  as  any.  . . . Gents,  line  up 
again — an’  if  you  can’t  be  friendly,  be  camful!” 

Such  was  Buck  Duane’s  debut  in  the  little  outlaw 
hamlet  of  Ord. 

Duane  had  been  three  months  out  of  the  Nueces 
country.  At  El  Paso  he  bought  the  finest  horse  he 
could  find,  and,  armed  and  otherwise  outfitted  to 
suit  him,  he  had  taken  to  unknown  trails.  Leisurely 
he  rode  from  town  to  town,  village  to  village,  ranch 
to  ranch,  fitting  his  talk  and  his  occupation  to  the 
impression  he  wanted  to  make  upon  different  people 
whom  he  met.  He  was  in  turn  a cowboy,  a rancher, 
a cattleman,  a stock-buyer,  a boomer,  a land-hunter; 
and  long  before  he  reached  the  wild  and  inhospitable 
Ord  he  had  acted  the  part  of  an  outlaw,  drifting 
into  new  territory.  He  passed  on  leisurely  because 
he  wanted  to  learn  the  lay  of  the  country,  the  loca- 
tion of  villages  and  ranches,  the  work,  habit,  gossip, 
pleasures,  and  fears  of  the  people  with  whom  he 
came  in  contact.  The  one  subject  most  impelling 
to  him — outlaws — he  never  mentioned ; but  by  talk- 

ei8 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


ing  all  around  it,  sifting  the  old  ranch  and  cattle 
story,  he  acquired  a knowledge  calculated  to  aid 
his  plot.  In  this  game  time  was  of  no  moment;  if 
necessary  he  would  take  years  to  accomplish  his 
task.  The  stupendous  and  perilous  nature  of  it 
showed  in  the  slow,  wary  preparation.  When  he 
heard  Fletcher’s  name  and  faced  Knell  he  knew  he 
had  reached  the  place  he  sought.  Ord  was  a hamlet 
on  the  fringe  of  the  grazing  country,  of  doubtful 
honesty,  from  which,  surely,  winding  trails  led  down 
into  that  free  and  never-disturbed  paradise  of  out- 
laws— the  Big  Bend. 

Duane  made  himself  agreeable,  yet  not  too  much 
so,  to  Fletcher  and  several  other  men  disposed  to 
talk  and  drink  and  eat;  and  then,  after  having  a 
care  for  his  horse,  he  rode  out  of  town  a couple  of 
miles  to  a grove  he  had  marked,  and  there,  well 
hidden,  he  prepared  to  spend  the  night.  This  pro- 
ceeding served  a double  purpose — he  was  safer,  and 
the  habit  would  look  well  in  the  eyes  of  outlaws, 
who  would  be  more  inclined  to  see  in  him  the  lone- 
wolf  fugitive. 

Long  since  Duane  had  fought  out  a battle  with 
himself,  won  a hard-earned  victory.  His  outer  life, 
the  action,  was  much  the  same  as  it  had  been;  but 
the  inner  life  had  tremendously  changed.  He  could 
never  become  a happy  man,  he  could  never  shake 
utterly  those  haunting  phantoms  that  had  once 
been  his  despair  and  madness;  but  he  had  assumed 
a task  impossible  for  any  man  save  one  like  him, 
he  had  felt  the  meaning  of  it  grow  strangely  and 
wonderfully,  and  through  that  flourished  up  con- 
sciousness of  how  passionately  he  now  clung  to  this 

2 10 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


thing  which  would  blot  out  his  former  infamy.  The 
iron  fetters  no  more  threatened  his  hands;  the  iron 
door  no  more  haunted  his  dreams.  He  never  for- 
got that  he  was  free.  Strangely,  too,  along  with 
this  feeling  of  new  manhood  there  gathered  the  force 
of  imperious  desire  to  run  these  chief  outlaws  to 
their  dooms.  He  never  called  them  outlaws — but 
rustlers,  thieves,  robbers,  murderers,  criminals.  He 
sensed  the  growth  of  a relentless  driving  passion, 
and  sometimes  he  feared  that,  more  than  the  newly 
acquired  zeal  and  pride  in  this  ranger  service,  it  was 
the  old,  terrible  inherited  killing  instinct  lifting  its 
hydra-head  in  new  guise.  But  of  that  he  could  not  be 
sure.  He  dreaded  the  thought.  He  could  only  wait. 

Another  aspect  of  the  change  in  Duane,  neither 
passionate  nor  driving,  yet  not  improbably  even 
more  potent  of  new  significance  to  life,  was  the  im- 
perceptible return  of  an  old  love  of  nature  dead 
during  his  outlaw  days. 

For  years  a horse  had  been  only  a machine  of 
locomotion,  to  carry  him  from  place  to  place,  to 
beat  and  spur  and  goad  mercilessly  in  flight;  now 
this  giant  black,  with  his  splendid  head,  was  a com- 
panion, a friend,  a brother,  a loved  thing,  guarded 
jealously,  fed  and  trained  and  ridden  with  an  intense 
appreciation  of  his  great  speed  and  endurance.  For 
years  the  daytime,  with  its  birth  of  sunrise  on  through 
long  hours  to  the  ruddy  close,  had  been  used  for 
sleep  or  rest  in  some  rocky  hole  or  willow  brake  or 
deserted  hut,  had  been  hated  because  it  augmented 
danger  of  pursuit,  because  it  drove  the  fugitive  to 
lonely,  wretched  hiding;  now  the  dawn  was  a greet- 
ing, a promise  of  another  day  to  ride,  to  plan,  to 

220 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


remember,  and  sun,  wind,  cloud,  rain,  sky — all  were 
joys  to  him,  somehow  speaking  his  freedom.  For 
years  the  night  had  been  a black  space,  during 
which  he  had  to  ride  unseen  along  the  endless  trails, 
to  peer  with  cat-eyes  through  gloom  for  the  moving 
shape  that  ever  pursued  him;  now  the  twilight  and 
the  dusk  and  the  shadows  of  grove  and  canon  dark- 
ened into  night  with  its  train  of  stars,  and  brought 
him  calm  reflection  of  the  day’s  happenings,  of  the 
morrow’s  possibilities,  perhaps  a sad,  brief  proces- 
sion of  the  old  phantoms,  then  sleep.  For  years 
canons  and  valleys  and  mountains  had  been  looked 
at  as  retreats  that  might  be  dark  and  wild  enough 
to  hide  even  an  outlaw;  now  he  saw  these  features 
of  the  great  desert  with  something  of  the  eyes  of  the 
boy  who  had  once  burned  for  adventure  and  life 
among  them. 

This  night  a wonderful  afterglow  lingered  long  in 
the  west,  and  against  the  golden-red  of  clear  sky  the 
bold,  black  head  of  Mount  Ord  reared  itself  aloft, 
beautiful  but  aloof,  sinister  yet  calling.  Small  won- 
der that  Duane  gazed  in  fascination  upon  the  peak! 
Somewhere  deep  in  its  corrugated  sides  or  lost  in  a 
rugged  canon  was  hidden  the  secret  stronghold  of 
the  master  outlaw  Cheseldine.  All  down  along 
the  ride  from  El  Paso  Duane  had  heard  of  Chesel- 
dine, of  his  band,  his  fearful  deeds,  his  cunning, 
his  widely  separated  raids,  of  his  flitting  here  and 
there  like  a Jack-o’-lantem;  but  never  a word  of  his 
den,  never  a word  of  his  appearance. 

Next  morning  Duane  did  not  return  to  Ord.  He 
struck  off  to  the  north,  riding  down  a rough,  slow- 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


descending  road  that  appeared  to  have  been  used 
occasionally  for  cattle-driving.  As  he  had  ridden 
in  from  the  west,  this  northern  direction  led  him 
into  totally  unfamiliar  country.  While  he  passed 
on,  however,  he  exercised  such  keen  observation 
that  in  the  future  he  would  know  whatever  might 
be  of  service  to  him  if  he  chanced  that  way  again. 

The  rough,  wild,  brush-covered  slope  down  from 
the  foothills  gradually  leveled  out  into  plain,  a mag- 
nificent grazing  country,  upon  which  till  noon  of 
that  day  Duane  did  not  see  a herd  of  cattle  or  a 
ranch.  About  that  time  he  made  out  smoke  from 
the  railroad,  and  after  a couple  of  hours’  riding  he 
entered  a town  which  inquiry  discovered  to  be  Brad- 
ford. It  was  the  largest  town  he  had  visited  since 
Marfa,  and  he  calculated  must  have  a thousand 
or  fifteen  hundred  inhabitants,  not  including  Mexi- 
cans. He  decided  this  would  be  a good  place  for 
him  to  hold  up  for  a while,  being  the  nearest  town 
to  Ord,  only  forty  miles  away.  So  he  hitched  his 
horse  in  front  of  a store  and  leisurely  set  about 
studying  Bradford. 

It  was  after  dark,  however,  that  Duane  verified 
his  suspicions  concerning  Bradford.  The  town  was 
awake  after  dark,  and  there  was  one  long  row  of 
saloons,  dance-halls,  gambling-resorts  in  full  blast. 
Duane  visited  them  all,  and  was  surprised  to  see 
wildness  and  license  equal  to  that  of  the  old  river 
camp  of  Bland’s  in  its  palmiest  days.  Here  it  was 
forced  upon  him  that  the  farther  west  one  traveled 
along  the  river  the  sparser  the  respectable  settle- 
ments, the  more  numerous  the  hard  characters,  and 
in  consequence  the  greater  the  element  of  lawless- 

222 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


ness.  Duane  returned  to  his  lodging-house  with 
the  conviction  that  MacNelly’s  task  of  cleaning  up 
the  Big  Bend  country  was  a stupendous  one.  Yet, 
he  reflected,  a company  of  intrepid  and  quick-shoot- 
ing rangers  could  have  soon  cleaned  up  this  Brad- 
ford. 

The  innkeeper  had  one  other  guest  that  night, 
a long  black-coated  and  wide-sombreroed  Texan  who 
reminded  Duane  of  his  grandfather.  This  man  had 
penetrating  eyes,  a courtly  manner,  and  an  unmis- 
takable leaning  toward  companionship  and  mint- 
juleps.  The  gentleman  introduced  himself  as  Colonel 
Webb,  of  Marfa,  and  took  it  as  a matter  of  course 
that  Duane  made  no  comment  about  himself. 

“Sir,  it’s  all  one  to  me,”  he  said,  blandly,  waving 
his  hand.  “I  have  traveled.  Texas  is  free,  and  this 
frontier  is  one  where  it’s  healthier  and  just  as 
friendly  for  a man  to  have  no  curiosity  about  his 
companion.  You  might  be  Cheseldine,  of  the  Big 
Bend,  or  you  might  be  Judge  Little,  of  El  Paso — it’s 
all  one  to  me.  I enjoy  drinking  with  you  anyway.” 

Duane  thanked  him,  conscious  of  a reserve  and 
dignity  that  he  could  not  have  felt  or  pretended 
three  months  before.  And  then,  as  always,  he  was 
a good  listener.  Colonel  Webb  told,  among  other 
things,  that  he  had  come  out  to  the  Big  Bend  to 
look  over  the  affairs  of  a deceased  brother  who  had 
been  a rancher  and  a sheriff  of  one  of  the  towns, 
Fairdale  by  name. 

“Found  no  affairs,  no  ranch,  not  even  his  grave,” 
said  Colonel  Webb.  “And  I tell  you,  sir,  if  hell’s 
any  tougher  than  this  Fairdale  I don’t  want  to 
expiate  my  sins  there.” 


223 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“Fairdale.  ...  I imagine  sheriffs  have  a hard 
row  to  hoe  out  here,”  replied  Duane,  trying  not  to 
appear  curious. 

The  Colonel  swore  lustily. 

“My  brother  was  the  only  honest  sheriff  Fairdale 
ever  had.  It  was  wonderful  how  long  he  lasted. 
But  he  had  nerve,  he  could  throw  a gun,  and  he 
was  on  the  square.  Then  he  was  wise  enough  to 
confine  his  work  to  offenders  of  his  own  town  and 
neighborhood.  He  let  the  riding  outlaws  alone,  else 
he  wouldn’t  have  lasted  at  all.  . . . What  this 
frontier  needs,  sir,  is  about  six  companies  of  Texas 
Rangers.” 

Duane  was  aware  of  the  Colonel’s  close  scrutiny. 

“Do  you  know  anything  about  the  service?”  he 
asked. 

“I  used  to.  Ten  years  ago  when  I lived  in  San 
Antonio.  A fine  body  of  men,  sir,  and  the  salvation 
of  Texas.” 

“Governor  Stone  doesn’t  entertain  that  opinion,” 
said  Duane. 

Here  Colonel  Webb  exploded.  Manifestly  the 
governor  was  not  his  choice  for  a chief  executive  of 
the  great  state.  He  talked  politics  for  a while,  and 
of  the  vast  territory  west  of  the  Pecos  that  seemed 
never  to  get  a benefit  from  Austin.  Fie  talked 
enough  for  Duane  to  realize  that  here  was  just  the 
kind  of  intelligent,  well-informed,  honest  citizen  that 
he  had  been  trying  to  meet.  Fie  exerted  himself 
thereafter  to  be  agreeable  and  interesting;  and  he 
saw  presently  that  here  was  an  opportunity  to  make 
a valuable  acquaintance,  if  not  a friend. 

“I’m  a stranger  in  these  parts,”  said  Duane, 
224 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

finally.  “What  is  this  outlaw  situation  you  speak 
of?” 

“It’s  damnable,  sir,  and  unbelievable.  Not  rus- 
tling any  more,  but  just  wholesale  herd-stealing, 
in  which  some  big  cattlemen,  supposed  to  be  honest, 
are  equally  guilty  with  the  outlaws.  On  this  border, 
you  know,  the  rustler  has  always  been  able  to  steal 
cattle  in  any  numbers.  But  to  get  rid  of  big  bunches 
— that’s  the  hard  job.  The  gang  operating  between 
here  and  Valentine  evidently  have  not  this  trouble. 
Nobody  knows  where  the  stolen  stock  goes.  But 
I’m  not  alone  in  my  opinion  that  most  of  it  goes 
to  several  big  stockmen.  They  ship  to  San  Antonio, 
Austin,  New  Orleans,  also  to  El  Paso.  If  you 
travel  the  stock-road  between  here  and  Marfa  and 
Valentine  you’ll  see  dead  cattle  all  along  the  line 
and  stray  cattle  out  in  the  scrub.  The  herds  have 
been  driven  fast  and  far,  and  stragglers  are  not 
rounded  up.” 

“Wholesale  business,  eh?”  remarked  Duane. 
“Who  are  these — er — big  stock-buyers?” 

Colonel  Webb  seemed  a little  startled  at  the 
abrupt  query.  He  bent  his  penetrating  gaze  upon 
Duane  and  thoughtfully  stroked  his  pointed  beard. 

“Names,  of  course,  I’ll  not  mention.  Opinions 
are  one  thing,  direct  accusation  another.  This  is 
not  a healthy  country  for  the  informer.” 

When  it  came  to  the  outlaws  themselves  Colonel 
Webb  was  disposed  to  talk  freely.  Duane  could  not 
judge  whether  the  Colonel  had  a hobby  of  that  sub- 
ject or  the  outlaws  were  so  striking  in  personality 
and  deed  that  any  man  would  know  all  about  them. 
The  great  name  along  the  river  was  Cheseldine,  but 

225 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


it  seemed  to  be  a name  detached  from  an  individual. 
No  person  of  veracity  known  to  Colonel  Webb  had 
ever  seen  Cheseldine,  and  those  who  claimed  that 
doubtful  honor  varied  so  diversely  in  descriptions  of 
the  chief  that  they  confused  the  reality  and  lent  to 
the  outlaw  only  further  mystery.  Strange  to  say 
of  an  outlaw  leader,  as  there  was  no  one  who  could 
identify  him,  so  there  was  no  one  who  could  prove 
he  had  actually  killed  a man.  Blood  flowed  like 
water  over  the  Big  Bend  country,  and  it  was  Chesel- 
dine who  spilled  it.  Yet  the  fact  remained  there  were 
no  eye-witnesses  to  connect  any  individual  called 
Cheseldine  with  these  deeds  of  violence.  But  in 
striking  contrast  to  this  mystery  was  the  person, 
character,  and  cold-blooded  action  of  Poggin  and 
Knell,  the  chief’s  lieutenants.  They  were  familiar 
figures  in  all  the  towns  within  two  hundred  miles  of 
Bradford.  Knell  had  a record,  but  as  gunman  with 
an  incredible  list  of  victims  Poggin  was  supreme.  If 
Poggin  had  a friend  no  one  ever  heard  of  him. 
There  were  a hundred  stories  of  his  nerve,  his  won- 
derful speed  with  a gun,  his  passion  for  gambling, 
his  love  of  a horse — his  cold,  implacable,  inhuman 
wiping  out  of  his  path  any  man  that  crossed  it. 

“Cheseldine  is  a name,  a terrible  name,”  said 
Colonel  Webb.  “Sometimes  I wonder  if  he’s  not 
only  a name.  In  that  case  where  does  the  brains 
of  this  gang  come  from?  No;  there  must  be  a 
master  craftsman  behind  this  border  pillage;  a 
master  capable  of  handling  those  terrors  Poggin  and 
Knell.  Of  all  the  thousands  of  outlaws  developed 
by  western  Texas  in  the  last  twenty  years  these 
three  are  the  greatest.  In  southern  Texas,  down 

226 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


between  the  Pecos  and  the  Nueces,  there  have  been 
and  are  still  many  bad  men.  But  I doubt  if  any 
outlaw  there,  possibly  excepting  Buck  Duane,  ever 
equaled  Poggin.  You’ve  heard  of  this  Duane?” 

‘ ‘ Yes,  a little, ’ ’ replied  Duane,  quietly.  ‘‘I’m  from 
southern  Texas.  Buck  Duane,  then,  is  known  out 
here?” 

‘‘Why,  man,  where  isn’t  his  name  known?”  re- 
turned Colonel  Webb.  “I’ve  kept  track  of  his 
record  as  I have  all  the  others.  Of  course,  Duane, 
being  a lone  outlaw,  is  somewhat  of  a mystery  also, 
but  not  like  Cheseldine.  Out  here  there  have 
drifted  many  stories  of  Duane,  horrible  some  of 
them.  But  despite  them  a sort  of  romance  clings 
to  that  Nueces  outlaw.  He’s  killed  three  great  out- 
law leaders,  I believe — Bland,  Hardin,  and  the 
other  I forgot.  Hardin  was  known  in  the  Big  Bend, 
had  friends  there.  Bland  had  a hard  name  at  Del 
Rio.” 

“Then  thr's  man  Duane  enjoys  rather  an  unusual 
repute  west  of  the  Pecos?”  inquired  Duane. 

“He’s  considered  more  of  an  enemy  to  his  kind 
than  to  honest  men.  I understand  Duane  had 
many  friends,  that  whole  counties  swear  by  him — 
secretly,  of  course,  for  he’s  a hunted  outlaw  with 
rewards  on  his  head.  His  fame  in  this  country 
appears  to  hang  on  his  matchless  gun-play  and  his 
enmity  toward  outlaw  chiefs.  I’ve  heard  many  a 
rancher  say:  ‘I  wish  to  God  that  Buck  Duane 

would  drift  out  here!  I’d  give  a hundred  pesos  to 
see  him  and  Poggin  meet.’  It’s  a singular  thing, 
stranger,  how  jealous  these  great  outlaws  are  of 
each  other.” 


227 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“Yes,  indeed,  all  about  them  is  singular,”  replied 
Duane.  “Has  Cheseldine’s  gang  been  busy  lately?” 

“No.  This  section  has  been  free  of  rustling  for 
months,  though  there’s  unexplained  movements  of 
stock.  Probably  all  the  stock  that’s  being  shipped 
now  was  rustled  long  ago.  Cheseldine  works  over 
a wide  section,  too  wide  for  news  to  travel  inside  of 
weeks.  Then  sometimes  he’s  not  heard  of  at  all 
for  a spell.  These  lulls  are  pretty  surely  indicative 
of  a big  storm  sooner  or  later.  And  Cheseldine’s 
deals,  as  they  grow  fewer  and  farther  between,  cer- 
tainly get  bigger,  more  daring.  There  are  some 
people  who  think  Cheseldine  had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  bank-robberies  and  train-holdups  during  the  last 
few  years  in  this  country.  But  that’s  poor  reason- 
ing. The  jobs  have  been  too  well  done,  too  surely 
covered,  to  be  the  work  of  greasers  or  ordinary  out- 
laws.” 

“What’s  your  view  of  the  outlook?  How’s  all 
this  going  to  wind  up?  Will  the  outlaw  ever  be 
driven  out?”  asked  Duane. 

“Never.  There  will  always  be  outlaws  along  the 
Rio  Grande.  All  the  armies  in  the  world  couldn’t 
comb  the  wild  brakes  of  that  fifteen  hundred  miles 
of  river.  But  the  sway  of  the  outlaw,  such  as  is 
enjoyed  by  these  great  leaders,  will  sooner  or  later 
be  past.  The  criminal  element  flock  to  the  South- 
west. But  not  so  thick  and  fast  as  the  pioneers. 
Besides,  the  outlaws  kill  themselves,  and  the  ranchers 
are  slowly  rising  in  wrath,  if  not  in  action.  That 
will  come  soon.  If  they  only  had  a leader  to  start 
the  fight!  But  that  will  come.  There’s  talk  of 
Vigilantes,  the  same  that  were  organized  in  Cali- 

228 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


fornia  and  are  now  in  force  in  Idaho.  So  far  it’s 
only  talk.  But  the  time  will  come.  And  the  days 
of  Cheseldine  and  Poggin  are  numbered.” 

Duane  went  to  bed  that  night  exceedingly  thought- 
ful. The  long  trail  was  growing  hot.  This  voluble 
colonel  had  given  him  new  ideas.  It  came  to 
Duane  in  surprise  that  he  was  famous  along  the 
upper  Rio  Grande.  Assuredly  he  would  not  long 
be  able  to  conceal  his  identity.  He  had  no  doubt 
that  he  would  soon  meet  the  chiefs  of  this  clever 
and  bold  rustling  gang.  He  could  not  decide 
whether  he  would  be  safer  unknown  or  known.  In 
the  latter  case  his  one  chance  lay  in  the  fatality  con- 
nected with  his  name,  in  his  power  to  look  it  and 
act  it.  Duane  had  never  dreamed  of  any  sleuth- 
hound  tendency  in  his  nature,  but  now  he  felt  some- 
thing like  one.  Above  all  others  his  mind  fixed  on 
Poggin — Poggin  the  brute,  the  executor  of  Chesel- 
dine’s  will,  but  mostly  upon  Poggin  the  gunman. 
This  in  itself  was  a warning  to  Duane.  Pie  felt  ter- 
rible forces  at  work  within  him.  There  was  the 
stern  and  indomitable  resolve  to  make  MacNelly’s 
boast  good  to  the  governor  of  the  state — to  break 
up  Cheseldine’s  gang.  Yet  this  was  not  in  Duane’s 
mind  before  a strange  grim  and  deadly  instinct — 
which  he  had  to  drive  away  for  fear  he  would  find 
in  it  a passion  to  kill  Poggin,  not  for  the  state,  nor 
for  his  word  to  MacNelly,  but  for  himself.  Had  his 
father’s  blood  and  the  hard  years  made  Duane  the 
kind  of  man  who  instinctively  wanted  to  meet  Pog- 
gin? He  was  sworn  to  MacNelly’s  service,  and  he 
fought  himself  to  keep  that,  and  that  only,  in  his  mind. 

229 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Duane  ascertained  that  Fairdale  was  situated  twc 
days’  ride  from  Bradford  toward  the  north.  There 
was  a stage  which  made  the  journey  twice  a week. 

Next  morning  Duane  mounted  his  horse  and 
headed  for  Fairdale.  tie  rode  leisurely,  as  he 
wanted  to  learn  all  he  could  about  the  country. 
There  were  few  ranches.  The  farther  he  traveled 
the  better  grazing  he  encountered,  and,  strange  tc 
note,  the  fewer  herds  of  cattle. 

It  was  just  sunset  when  he  made  out  a cluster 
of  adobe  houses  that  marked  the  half-way  point 
between  Bradford  and  Fairdale.  Here,  Duane  had 
learned,  was  stationed  a comfortable  inn  for  way- 
farers. 

When  he  drew  up  before  the  inn  the  landlord  and 
his  family  and  a number  of  loungers  greeted  hirr 

laconic'aliy. 

“Beat  the  stage  in,  hey?”  remarked  one. 

“There  she  comes  now,”  said  another.  “Joel 
shore  is  drivin’  to-night.” 

Far  down  the  road  Duane  saw  a cloud  of  dust 
and  horses  and  a lumbering  coach.  When  he  had 
looked  after  the  needs  of  his  horse  he  returned  to 
the  group  before  the  inn.  They  awaited  the  stage 
with  that  interest  common  to  isolated  people.  Pres- 
ently it  rolled  up,  a large  mud-bespattered  and  dusty 
vehicle,  littered  with  baggage  on  top  and  tied  or 
behind.  A number  of  passengers  alighted,  three  of 
whom  excited  Duane’s  interest.  One  was  a tall, 
dark,  striking-looking  man,  and  the  other  two  were 
ladies,  wearing  long  gray  ulsters  and  veils.  Duane 
beard  the  proprietor  of  the  inn  address  the  man  as 
Colonel  Longstreth,  and  as  the  party  entered  the 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


inn  Duane’s  quick  ears  caught  a few  words  which 
acquainted  him  with  the  fact  that  Longstreth  was 
the  Mayor  of  Fairdale. 

Duane  passed  inside  himself  to  learn  that  supper  _ 
would  soon  be  ready.  At  table  he  found  himself 
opposite  the  three  who  had  attracted  his  attention. 

“Ruth,  I envy  the  lucky  cowboys,”  Longstreth 
was  saying. 

Ruth  was  a curly-headed  girl  with  gray  or  hazel 
eyes. 

“I’m  crazy  to  ride  bronchos,”  she  said. 

Duane  gathered  she  was  on  a visit  to  western 
Texas.  The  other  girl’s  deep  voice,  sweet  like  a 
bell,  made  Duane  regard  her  closer.  She  had  beauty 
as  he  had  never  seen  it  in  another  woman.  She  was 
slender,  but  the  development  of  her  figure  gave 
Duane  the  impression  she  was  twenty  years  old  or 
more.  She  had  the  most  exquisite  hands  Duane  had 
ever  seen.  She  did  not  resemble  the  Colonel,  who 
was  evidently  her  father.  She  looked  tired,  quiet, 
even  melancholy.  A finely  chiseled  oval  face;  clear, 
olive-tinted  skin,  long  eyes  set  wide  apart  and  black 
as  coal,  beautiful  to  look  into;  a slender,  straight 
nose  that  had  something  nervous  and  delicate  about 
it  which  made  Duane  think  of  a thoroughbred;  and 
a mouth  by  no  means  small,  but  perfectly  curved; 
and  hair  like  jet — all  these  features  proclaimed  her 
beauty  to  Duane.  Duane  believed  her  a descendant 
of  one  of  the  old  French  families  of  eastern  Texas. 
He  was  sure  of  it  when  she  looked  at  him,  drawn 
by  his  rather  persistent  gaze.  There  wrere  pride, 
fire,  and  passion  in  her  eyes.  Duane  felt  himself 
blushing  in  confusion.  His  stare  at  her  had  been 

231 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


rude,  perhaps,  but  unconscious.  How  many  years 
had  passed  since  he  had  seen  a girl  like  her!  There- 
after he  kept  his  eyes  upon  his  plate,  yet  he  seemed 
to  be  aware  that  he  had  aroused  the  interest  of  both 
girls. 

After  supper  the  guests  assembled  in  a big  sitting- 
room  where  an  open  fireplace  with  blazing  mesquite 
sticks  gave  out  warmth  and  cheery  glow.  Duane 
took  a seat  by  a table  in  the  corner,  and,  finding  a 
paper,  began  to  read.  Presently  when  he  glanced 
up  he  saw  two  dark-faced  men,  strangers  who  had 
not  appeared  before,  and  were  peering  in  from  a 
doorway.  When  they  saw  Duane  had  observed 
them  they  stepped  back  out  of  sight. 

It  flashed  over  Duane  that  the  strangers  acted 
suspiciously.  In  Texas  in  the  seventies  it  was  al- 
ways bad  policy  to  let  strangers  go  unheeded.  Duane 
pondered  a moment.  Then  he  went  out  to  look  over 
these  two  men.  The  doorway  opened  into  a patio, 
and  across  that  was  a little  dingy,  dim-lighted  bar- 
room. Here  Duane  found  the  innkeeper  dispensing 
drinks  to  the  two  strangers.  They  glanced  up  when 
he  entered,  and  one  of  them  whispered.  He  imagined 
he  had  seen  one  of  them  before.  In  Texas,  where 
outdoor  men  were  so  rough,  bronzed,  bold,  and  some- 
times grim  of  aspect,  it  was  no  easy  task  to  pick  out 
the  crooked  ones.  But  Duane’s  years  on  the  border 
had  augmented  a natural  instinct  or  gift  to  read 
character,  or  at  least  to  sense  the  evil  in  men;  and 
he  knew  at  once  that  these  strangers  were  dishonest. 

“Hev  somethin’?”  one  of  them  asked,  leering. 
Both  looked  Duane  up  and  down. 

“No  thanks,  I don’t  drink,”  Duane  replied,  and 
232 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


returned  their  scrutiny  with  interest.  “How’s  tricks 
in  the  Big  Bend?” 

Both  men  stared.  It  had  taken  only  a close 
glance  for  Duane  to  recognize  a type  of  ruffian  most 
frequently  met  along  the  river.  These  strangers 
had  that  stamp,  and  their  surprise  proved  he  was 
right.  Here  the  innkeeper  showed  signs  of  uneasi- 
ness, and  seconded  the  surprise  of  his  customers. 
No  more  was  said  at  the  instant,  and  the  two  rather 
hurriedly  went  out. 

“Say,  boss,  do  you  know  those  fellows?”  Duane 
asked  the  innkeeper. 

“Nope.” 

“Which  way  did  they  come?” 

“Now  I think  of  it,  them  fellers  rid  in  from  both 
corners  to-day,”  he  replied,  and  he  put  both  hands 
on  the  bar  and  looked  at  Duane.  “They  nooned 
heah,  cornin’  from  Bradford,  they  said,  an’  trailed 
in  after  the  stage.” 

When  Duane  returned  to  the  sitting-room  Colonel 
Longstreth  was  absent,  also  several  of  the  other 
passengers.  Miss  Ruth  sat  in  the  chair  he  had 
vacated,  and  across  the  table  from  her  sat  Miss 
Longstreth.  Duane  went  directly  to  them. 

“Excuse  me,”  said  Duane,  addressing  them.  “I 
want  to  tell  you  there  are  a couple  of  rough-looking 
men  here.  I’ve  just  seen  them.  They  mean  evil. 
Tell  your  father  to  be  careful.  Lock  your  doors — 
bar  your  windows  to-night.” 

“Oh!”  cried  Ruth,  very  low.  “Ray,  do  you  hear?” 

“Thank  you;  we’ll  be  careful,”  said  Miss  Long- 
streth, gracefully.  The  rich  color  had  faded  in  her 
cheek.  “I  saw  those  men  watching  you  from  that 

233 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


door.  They  had  such  bright  black  eyes.  Is  there 
really  danger — here?” 

“I  think  so,”  was  Duane’s  reply. 

Soft  swift  steps  behind  him  preceded  a harsh 
voice:  “Hands  up!” 

No  man  quicker  than  Duane  to  recognize  the 
intent  in  those  words!  His  hands  shot  up.  Miss 
Ruth  uttered  a little  frightened  cry  and  sank  into 
her  chair.  Miss  Longstreth  turned  white,  her 
eyes  dilated.  Both  girls  were  staring  at  some  one 
behind  Duane. 

“Turn  around!”  ordered  the  harsh  voice. 

The  big,  dark  stranger,  the  bearded  one  who  had 
whispered  to  his  comrade  in  the  bar-room  and 
asked  Duane  to  drink,  had  him  covered  with  a 
cocked  gun.  He  strode  forward,  his  eyes  gleaming, 
pressed  the  gun  against  him,  and  with  his  other 
hand  dove  into  his  inside  coat  pocket  and  tore  out 
his  roll  of  bills.  Then  he  reached  low  at  Duane’s 
hip,  felt  his  gun,  and  took  it.  Then  he  slapped  the 
other  hip,  evidently  in  search  of  another  weapon. 
That  done,  he  backed  away,  wearing  an  expression 
of  fiendish  satisfaction  that  made  Duane  think  he 
was  only  a common  thief,  a novice  at  this  kind  of 
game. 

His  comrade  stood  in  the  door  with  a gun  lev- 
eled at  two  other  men,  who  stood  there  frightened, 

speechless. 

“Git  a move  on,  Bid,”  called  this  fellow;  and 
he  took  a hasty  glance  backward.  A stamp  of  hoofs 
came  from  outside.  Of  course  the  robbers  had 
horses  waiting.  The  one  called  Bill  strode  across 
the  room,  and  with  brutal,  careless  haste  began  to 

234 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


prod  the  two  men  with  his  weapon  and  to  search 
them.  The  robber  in  the  doorway  called  “Rustle!” 
and  disappeared. 

Duane  wondered  where  the  innkeeper  was,  and 
Colonel  Longstreth  and  the  other  two  passengers. 
The  bearded  robber  quickly  got  through  with  his 
searching,  and  from  his  growls  Duane  gathered  he 
had  not  been  well  remunerated.  Then  he  wheeled 
once  more.  Duane  had  not  moved  a muscle,  stood 
perfectly  calm  with  his  arms  high.  The  robber 
strode  back  with  his  bloodshot  eyes  fastened  upon 
the  girls.  Miss  Longstreth  never  flinched,  but  the 
little  girl  appeared  about  to  faint. 

“Don’t  yap,  there!”  he  said,  low  and  hard.  He 
thrust  the  gun  close  to  Ruth.  Then  Duane  knew 
for  sure  that  he  was  no  knight  of  the  road,  but 
a plain  cutthroat  robber.  Danger  always  made 
Duane  exult  in  a kind  of  cold  glow.  But  now  some- 
thing hot  worked  within  him.  He  had  a little  gun 
in  his  pocket.  The  robber  had  missed  it.  And  he 
began  to  calculate  chances. 

“Any  money,  jewelry,  diamonds!”  ordered  the 
ruffian,  fiercely. 

Miss  Ruth  collapsed.  Then  he  made  at  Miss 
Longstreth.  She  stood  with  her  hands  at  her 
breast.  Evidently  the  robber  took  this  position 
to  mean  that  she  had  valuables  concealed  there. 
But  Duane  fancied  she  had  instinctively  pressed  her 
hands  against  a throbbing  heart. 

“Come  out  with  it!”  he  said,  harshly,  reaching 
for  her. 

“Don’t  dare  touch  me!”  she  cried,  her  eyes  ablaze. 
She  did  not  move.  She  had  nerve, 

16  235 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


made  Duane  thrill.  Pie  saw  he  was  going  to 
get  a chance.  Waiting  had  been  a science  with 
him.  But  here  it  was  hard.  Miss  Ruth  had  fainted, 
and  that  was  well.  Miss  Longstreth  had  fight  in 
her,  which  fact  helped  Duane,  yet  made  injury  pos- 
sible to  her.  She  eluded  two  lunges  the  man  made 
at  her.  Then  his  rough  hand  caught  her  waist, 
and  with  one  pull  ripped  it  asunder,  exposing  her 
beautiful  shoulder,  white  as  snow. 

She  cried  out.  The  prospect  of  being  robbed  or 
even  killed  had  not  shaken  Miss  Longstreth’s  nerve 
as  had  this  brutal  tearing  off  of  half  her  waist. 

The  ruffian  was  only  turned  partially  away  from 
Duane.  For  himself  he  could  have  waited  no 
longer.  But  for  her!  That  gun  was  still  held 
dangerously  upward  close  to  her.  Duane  watched 
only  that.  Then  a bellow  made  him  jerk  his  head. 
Colonel  Longstreth  stood  in  the  doorway  in  a mag- 
nificent rage.  He  had  no  weapon.  Strange  how 
he  showed  no  fear!  He  bellowed  something  again. 

Duane’s  shifting  glance  caught  the  robber’s  sud- 
den movement.  It  was  a kind  of  start.  He  seemed 
stricken.  Duane  expected  him  to  shoot  Long- 
streth. Instead  the  hand  that  clutched  Miss  Long- 
streth’s torn  waist  loosened  its  hold.  The  other 
hand  with  its  cocked  weapon  slowly  dropped  till  it 
pointed  to  the  floor.  That  was  Duane’s  chance. 

Swift  as  a flash  he  drew  his  gun  and  fired.  Thud ! 
went  his  bullet,  and  he  could  not  tell  on  the  instant 
whether  it  hit  the  robber  or  went  into  the  ceiling. 
Then  the  robber’s  gun  boomed  harmlessly.  He  fell 
with  blood  spurting  over  his  face.  Duane  realized 
he  had  hit  him,  but  the  small  bullet  had  glanced. 

236 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Miss  Longstreth  reeled  and  might  have  fallen 
had  Duane  not  supported  her.  It  was  only  a few 
steps  to  a couch,  to  which  he  half  led,  half  carried 
her.  Then  he  rushed  out  of  the  room,  across  the 
patio,  through  the  bar  to  the  yard.  Nevertheless, 
he  was  cautious.  In  the  gloom  stood  a saddled 
horse,  probably  the  one  belonging  to  the  fellow  he 
had  shot.  His  comrade  had  escaped.  Returning 
to  the  sitting-room,  Duane  found  a condition  ap- 
proaching pandemonium. 

The  innkeeper  rushed  in,  pitchfork  in  hands. 
Evidently  he  had  been  out  at  the  barn.  He  was 
now  shouting  to  find  out  what  had  happened.  Joel, 
the  stage-driver,  was  trying  to  quiet  the  men  who 
had  been  robbed.  The  woman,  wife  of  one  of  the 
men,  had  come  in,  and  she  had  hysterics.  The 
girls  were  still  and  white.  The  robber  Bill  lay 
where  he  had  fallen,  and  Duane  guessed  he  had 
made  a fair  shot,  after  all.  And,  lastly,  the  thing 
that  struck  Duane  most  of  all  was  Longstreth’s 
rage.  He  never  saw  such  passion.  Like  a caged 
lion  Longstreth  stalked  and  roared.  There  came 
a quieter  moment  in  which  the  innkeeper  shrilly 
protested : 

‘ ‘ Man,  what  ’re  you  ravin’  aboot  ? Nobody’s  hurt, 
an’  thet’s  lucky.  I swear  to  God  I hadn’t  nothin’ 
to  do  with  them  fellers!” 

“I  ought  to  kill  you  anyhow!”  replied  Longstreth. 
And  his  voice  now  astounded  Duane,  it  was  so  full 
of  power. 

Upon  examination  Duane  found  that  his  bullet 
had  furrowed  the  robber’s  temple,  tom  a great 
piece  out  of  his  scalp,  and,  as  Duane  had  guessed, 

237 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


had  glanced.  He  was  not  seriously  injured,  and 
already  showed  signs  of  returning  consciousness. 

“Drag  him  out  of  here!”  ordered  Longstreth: 
and  he  turned  to  his  daughter. 

Before  the  innkeeper  reached  the  robber  Duane 
had  secured  the  money  and  gun  taken  from  him; 
and  presently  recovered  the  property  of  the  other 
men.  Joel  helped  the  innkeeper  carry  the  injured 
man  somewhere  outside. 

Miss  Longstreth  was  sitting  white  but  composed 
upon  the  couch,  where  lay  Miss  Ruth,  who  evident- 
ly had  been  carried  there  by  the  Colonel.  Duane 
did  not  chink  she  had  wholly  lost  consciousness, 
and  now  she  lay  very  still,  with  eyes  dark  and 
shadowy,  her  face  pallid  and  wet.  The  Colonel, 
now  that  he  finally  remembered  his  women-foik, 
seemed  to  be  gentle  and  kind.  He  talked  sooth- 
ingly to  Miss  Ruth,  made  light  of  the  adventure, 
said  she  must  learn  to  have  nerve  out  here  where 
things  happened. 

“Can  I be  of  any  service?”  asked  Duane,  solici- 
tously. 

“Thanks;  I guess  there’s  nothing  you  can  do. 
Talk  to  these  frightened  girls  while  I go  see  what’s 
to  be  done  with  that  thick-skulled  robber,”  he  re- 
plied, and,  telling  the  girls  that  there  was  no  more 
danger,  he  went  out. 

Miss  Longstreth  sat  with  one  hand  holding  her 
torn  waist  in  place;  the  other  she  extended  to 
Duane.  He  took  it  awkwardly,  and  he  felt  a 
strange  thrill. 

“You  saved  my  life,”  she  said,  in  grave,  sweet 
seriousness. 


LONE  STAR  RANGER 


'T  I-T  TP 

“No,  no!”  Duane  exclaimed.  “He  might  have 
struck  you,  hurt  you,  but  no  more.” 

“I  saw  murder  in  his  eyes.  He  thought  I had 
jewels  under  my  dress.  I couldn’t  bear  his  touch. 
The  beast!  I’d  have  fought.  Surely  my  life  was 
in  peril.” 

“Did  you  kill  him?”  asked  Miss  Ruth,  who  lay 
listening. 

“Oh  no.  He’s  not  badly  hurt.” 

“I’m  very  glad  he’s  alive,”  said  Miss  Longstreth, 
shuddering. 

“My  intention  was  bad  enough,”  Duane  went  on. 
“It  was  a ticklish  place  for  me.  You  see,  he  was 
half  drunk,  and  I was  afraid  his  gun  might  go  off. 
Fool  careless  he  was!” 

“Yet  you  say  you  didn’t  save  me,”  Miss  Long- 
streth returned,  quickly. 

“Well,  let  it  go  at  that,”  Duane  responded.  “I 
saved  you  something.” 

“Tell  me  all  about  it?”  asked  Miss  Ruth,  who 
was  fast  recovering. 

Rather  embarrassed,  Duane  briefly  told  the  in- 
cident from  his  point  of  view. 

“Then  you  stood  there  all  the  time  with  your 
. hands  up  thinking  of  nothing — watching  for  nothing 
except  a little  moment  when  you  might  draw  your 
gun?”  asked  Miss  Ruth. 

“I  guess  that’s  about  it,”  he  replied. 

“Cousin,”  said  Miss  Longstreth,  thoughtfully, 
“it  was  fortunate  for  us  that  this  gentleman  hap- 
pened to  be  here.  Papa  scouts — laughs  at  danger. 
He  seemed  to  think  there  was  no  danger.  Yet  he 
raved  after  it  came,” 


2*0 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“Go  with  us  all  the  way  to  Fairdale — please?’3 
asked  Miss  Ruth,  sweetly  offering  her  hand.  “I 
am  Ruth  Herbert.  And  this  is  my  cousin,  Ray 
Longstreth.” 

“I’m  traveling  that  way,”  replied  Duane,  in  great 
confusion.  He  did  not  know  how  to  meet  the 
situation. 

Colonel  Longstreth  returned  then,  and  after  bid 
ding  Duane  a good  night,  which,  seemed  rather  curt 
by  contrast  to  the  graciousness  of  the  girls,  he  led 
them  away. 

Before  going  to  bed  Duane  went  outside  to  take 
a look  at  the  injured  robber  and  perhaps  to  ask  him 
a few  questions.  To  Duane’s  surprise,  he  was  gone, 
and  so  was  his  horse.  The  innkeeper  was  dum- 
founded.  He  said  that  he  left  the  fellow  on  the 
floor  in  the  bar-room. 

“Had  he  come  to?”  inquired  Duane.. 

“Sure.  He  asked  for  whisky.” 

“Did  he  say  anything  else?” 

“Not  to  me.  I heard  him  talkin’  to  the  father 
of  them  girls.” 

“You  mean  Colonel  Longstreth?” 

“I  reckon.  Fie  sure  was  some  riled,  wasn’t  he!’ 
Test  as  if  I was  to  blame  fer  that  two-bit  of  a hold- 
up!” 

“What  did  you  make  of  the  old  gent’s  rage?” 
asked  Duane,  watching  the  innkeeper.  He  scratched 
his  head  dubiously.  He  was  sincere,  and  Duane 
believed  in  his  honesty. 

“Wal,  I’m  doggoned  if  I know  what  to  make 
of  it.  But  I reckon  he’s  either  crazy  or  got  more 

nerve  than  most  Texans.” 

240 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“More  nerve,  maybe,”  Duane  replied.  “Show 
me  a bed  now,  innkeeper.” 

Once  in  bed  in  the  dark,  Duane  composed  himself 
to  think  over  the  several  events  of  the  evening.  He 
called  up  the  details  of  the  holdup  and  carefully 
revolved  them  in  mind.  The  Colonel’s  wrath, 
under  circumstances  where  almost  any  Texan  would 
have  been  cool,  nonplussed  Duane,  and  he  put  it 
down  to  a choleric  temperament.  He  pondered  long 
on  the  action  of  the  robber  when  Longstreth’s  bel- 
low of  rage  burst  in  upon  him.  This  ruffian,  as 
bold  and  mean  a type  as  Duane  had  ever  encoun- 
tered, had,  from  some  cause  or  other,  been  startled. 
From  whatever  point  Duane  viewed  the  man’s 
strange  indecision  he  could  come  to  only  one  con- 
clusion— his  start,  his  check,  his  fear  had  been 
that  of  recognition.  Duane  compared  this  effect 
with  the  suddenly  acquired  sense  he  had  gotten  of 
Colonel  Longstreth’s  powerful  personality.  Why 
had  that  desperate  robber  lowered  his  gun  and  stood 
paralyzed  at  sight  and  sound  of  the  Mayor  of  Fair- 
dale?  This  was  not  answerable.  There  might  have 
been  a number  of  reasons,  all  to  Colonel  Longstreth’s 
credit,  but  Duane  could  not  understand.  Long- 
streth  had  not  appeared  to  see  danger  for  his  daugh- 
ter, even  though  she  had  been  roughly  handled,  and 
had  advanced  in  front  of  a cocked  gun.  Duane 
probed  deep  into  this  singular  fact,  and  he  brought 
to  bear  on  the  thing  all  his  knowledge  and  experi- 
ence of  violent  Texas  life.  And  he  found  that  the 
instant  Colonel  Longstreth  had  appeared  on  the 
scene  there  was  no  further  danger  threatening  his 
daughter.  Why?  That  likewise  Duane  could  not 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


answer.  Then  his  rage,  Duane  concluded,  had  been 
solely  at  the  idea  of  his  daughter  being  assaulted 
by  a robber.  This  deduction  was  indeed  a thought- 
disturber,  but  Duane  put  it  aside  to  crystallize  and 
for  more  careful  consideration. 

Next  morning  Duane  found  that  the  little  town 
was  called  Sanderson.  It  was  larger  than  he  had 
at  first  supposed.  He  walked  up  the  main  street 
and  back  again.  Just  as  he  arrived  some  horsemen 
rode  up  to  the  inn  and  dismounted.  And  at  this 
juncture  the  Longstreth  party  came  out.  Duane 
heard  Colonel  Longstreth  utter  an  exclamation. 
Then  he  saw  him  shake  hands  with  a tall  man. 
Longstreth  looked  surprised  and  angry,  and  he  spoke 
with  force;  but  Duane  could  not  hear  what  it  was 
he  said.  The  fellow  laughed,  yet  somehow  he 
struck  Duane  as  sullen,  until  suddenly  he  espied 
Miss  Longstreth.  Then  his  face  changed,  and  he 
removed  his  sombrero.  Duane  went  closer. 

“Floyd,  did  you  come  with  the  teams?”  asked 
Longstreth,  sharply. 

“Not  me.  I rode  a horse,  good  and  hard,”  was 
the  reply. 

“Humph!  I’ll  have  a word  to  say  to  you  later.” 
Then  Longstreth  turned  to  his  daughter.  “Ray, 
here’s  the  cousin  I’ve  told  you  about.  You  used  to 
play  with  him  ten  years  ago — Floyd  Lawson.  Floyd, 
my  daughter — and  my  niece,  Ruth  Herbert.” 

Duane  always  scrutinized  every  one  he  met,  and 
now  with  a dangerous  game  to  play,  with  a conscious- 
ness of  Longstreth’s  unusual  and  significant  per- 
sonality, he  bent  a keen  and  searching  glance  upon 
this  Floyd  Lawson. 


242 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


He  was  under  thirty,  yet  gray  at  his  temples — 
dark,  smooth  - shaven,  with  lines  left  by  wildness, 
dissipation,  shadows  under  dark  eyes,  a mouth  strong 
and  bitter,  and  a square  chin — a reckless,  careless, 
handsome,  sinister  face  strangely  losing  the  hard- 
ness when  he  smiled.  The  grace  of  a gentleman 
clung  round  him,  seemed  like  an  echo  in  his  mellow 
voice.  Duane  doubted  not  that  he,  like  many  a 
young  man,  had  drifted  out  to  the  frontier,  where 
rough  and  wild  life  had  wrought  sternly  but  had  not 
quite  effaced  the  mark  of  good  family. 

Colonel  Longstreth  apparently  did  not  share  the 
pleasure  of  his  daughter  and  his  niece  in  the  advent 
of  this  cousin.  Something  hinged  on  this  meeting. 
Duane  grew  intensely  curious,  but,  as  the  stage  ap- 
peared ready  for  the  journey,  he  had  no  further  op- 
portunity to  gratify  it. 


CHAPTER  XVI 


DUANE  followed  the  stage  through  the  town, 
out  into  the  open,  on  to  a wide,  hard-packed 
road  showing  years  of  travel.  It  headed  northwest. 
To  the  left  rose  a range  of  low,  bleak  mountains  he 
had  noted  yesterday,  and  to  the  right  sloped  the 
mesquite-patched  sweep  of  ridge  and  flat.  The 
driver  pushed  his  team  to  a fast  trot,  which  gait 
surely  covered  ground  rapidly. 

The  stage  made  three  stops  in  the  forenoon,  one 
at  a place  where  the  horses  could  be  watered,  the 
second  at  a chuck-wagon  belonging  to  cowboys  who 
were  riding  after  stock,  and  the  third  at  a small 
cluster  of  adobe  and  stone  houses  constituting  a 
hamlet  the  driver  called  Longstreth,  named  after 
the  Colonel.  From  that  point  on  to  Fairdale  there 
were  only  a few  ranches,  each  one  controlling  great 
acreage. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  from  a ridge-top  Duane 
sighted  Fairdale,  a green  patch  in  the  mass  of  gray. 
For  the  barrens  of  Texas  it  was  indeed  a fair  sight. 
But  he  was  more  concerned  with  its  remoteness  from 
civilization  than  its  beauty.  At  that  time,  in  the 
early  seventies,  when  the  vast  western  third  of 
Texas  was  a wilderness,  the  pioneer  had  done  won- 
ders to  settle  there  and  establish  places  like  Fair- 
dale. 


244 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

It  needed  only  a glance  for  Duane  to  pick  out 
Colonel  Longstreth’s  ranch.  The  house  was  sit- 
uated on  the  only  elevation  around  Fairdale,  and 
it  was  not  high,  nor  more  than  a few  minutes’  walk 
from  the  edge  of  the  town.  It  was  a low,  flat- 
roofed  structure  made  of  red  adobe  bricks,  and  cov- 
ered what  appeared  to  be  fully  an  acre  of  ground. 
All  was  green  about  it,  except  where  the  fenced 
corrals  and  numerous  barns  or  sheds  showed  gray 
and  red. 

Duane  soon  reached  the  shady  outskirts  of  Fair- 
dale,  and  entered  the  town  with  mingled  feelings  of 
curiosity,  eagerness,  and  expectation.  The  street 
he  rode  down  was  a main  one,  and  on  both  sides  of 
the  street  was  a solid  row  of  saloons,  resorts,  hotels. 
Saddled  horses  stood  hitched  all  along  the  sidewalk 
in  two  long  lines,  with  a buckbcard  and  team  here 
and  there  breaking  the  continuity.  This  block  was 
busy  and  noisy. 

From  all  outside  appearances  Fairdale  was  no 
different  from  other  frontier  towns,  and  Duane’s 
expectations  were  scarcely  realized.  As  the  after- 
noon was  waning  he  halted  at  a little  inn.  A boy 
took  charge  of  his  horse.  Duane  questioned  the  lad 
about  Fairdale  and  gradually  drew  to  the  subject 
most  in  mind. 

“Colonel  Longstreth  has  a big  outfit,  eh?” 

“Reckon  he  has,”  replied  the  lad.  “Doan  know 
how  many  cowboys.  They’re  always  cornin’  and 
goin’.  I ain’t  acquainted  with  half  of  them.” 

“Much  movement  of  stock  these  days?” 

“Stock’s  always  movin’,”  he  replied,  with  a queer 
look. 


24s 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“Rustlers?” 

But  he  did  not  follow  up  that  look  with  the  af- 
firmative Duane  expected. 

“Lively  place,  I hear — Fairdale  is?” 

“Ain’t  so  lively  as  Sanderson,  but  it’s  bigger.” 
“Yes,  I heard  it  was.  Fellow  down  there  was 
talking  about  two  cowboys  who  were  arrested.” 
“Sure.  I heered  all  about  that.  Joe  Bean  an’ 
Brick  Higgins — they  belong  heah,  but  they  ain’t 
heah  much.  Longstreth’s  boys.” 

Duane  did  not  want  to  appear  over-inquisitive, 
so  he  turned  the  talk  into  other  channels. 

After  getting  supper  Duane  strolled  up  and  down 
the  main  street.  When  darkness  set  in  he  went  into 
a hotel,  bought  cigars,  sat  around,  and  watched. 
Then  he  passed  out  and  went  into  the  next  place. 
This  was  of  rough  crude  exterior,  but  the  inside  was 
comparatively  pretentious  and  ablaze  with  lights. 
It  was  full  of  men  coming  and  going — a dusty- 
booted  crowd  that  smelled  of  horses  and  smoke. 
Duane  sat  down  for  a while,  with  wide  eyes  and  open 
ears.  Then  he  hunted  up  the  bar,  where  most  of 
the  guests  had  been  or  were  going.  He  found  a 
great  square  room  lighted  by  six  huge  lamps,  a bar 
at  one  side,  and  all  the  floor -space  taken  up  by 
tables  and  chairs.  This  was  the  only  gambling- 
place  of  any  size  in  southern  Texas  in  which  he  had 
noted  the  absence  of  Mexicans.  There  was  some 
card-playing  going  on  at  this  moment.  Duane 
stayed  in  there  for  a while,  and  knew  that  strangers 
were  too  common  in  Fairdale  to  be  conspicuous. 
Then  he  returned  to  the  inn  where  he  had  engaged 
a room. 

246 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Duane  sat  down  on  the  steps  of  the  dingy  little 
restaurant.  Two  men  were  conversing  inside,  and 
they  had  not  noticed  Duane. 

“Laramie,  what’s  the  stranger’s  name?”  asked  one. 

“He  didn’t  say,”  replied  the  other. 

“Sure  was  a strappin’  big  man.  Struck  me  a 
little  odd,  he  did.  No  cattleman,  him.  How’d  you 
size  him?” 

“Well,  like  one  of  them  cool,  easy,  quiet  Texans 
who’s  been  lookin’  for  a man  for  years — to  kill  him 
when  he  found  him.” 

“Right  you  are,  Laramie;  and,  between,  you  an’ 
me,  I hope  he’s  lookin’  for  Long — ” 

“’S-sh!”  interrupted  Laramie.  “You  must  be 
half  drunk,  to  go  talkin’  that  way.” 

Thereafter  they  conversed  in  too  low  a tone  ?or 
Duane  to  hear,  and  presently  Laramie’s  visitor  left. 
Duane  went  inside,  and,  making  himself  agreeable, 
began  to  ask  casual  questions  about  Fairdale.  Lara- 
mie was  not  communicative. 

Duane  went  to  his  room  in  a thoughtful  frame  of 
mind.  Had  Laramie’s  visitor  meant  he  hoped  some 
one  had  come  to  kill  Longstreth?  Duane  inferred 
just  that  from  the  interrupted  remark.  There  was 
something  wrong  about  the  Mayor  of  Fairdale. 
Duane  felt  it.  And  he  felt  also,  if  there  was  a crooked 
and  dangerous  man,  it  was  this  Floyd  Lawson. 
The  innkeeper  Laramie  would  be  worth  cultivating. 
And  Iasi,  in  Duane’s  thoughts  that  night  was  Miss 
Longstreth.  He  could  not  help  thinking  of  her — 
how  strangely  the  meeting  with  her  had  affected 
him.  It  made  him  remember  that  long-past  time 
when  girls  had  been  a part  of  his  life.  What  a sad 

247 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


and  dark  and  endless  void  lay  between  that  past 
and  the  present ! He  had  no  right  even  to  dream  of 
a beautiful  woman  like  Ray  Longstreth.  That  con- 
viction, however,  did  not  dispel  her;  indeed,  it 
seemed  perversely  to  make  her  grow  more  fascinat- 
ing. Duane  grew  conscious  of  a strange,  unaccount- 
able hunger,  a something  that  was  like  a pang  in 
his  breast. 

Next  day  he  lounged  about  the  inn.  He  did  not 
make  any  overtures  to  the  taciturn  proprietor. 
Duane  had  no  need  of  hurry  now.  Pie  contented 
himself  with  watching  and  listening.  And  at  the 
close  of  that  day  he  decided  Fairdale  was  what 
MacNelly  had  claimed  it  to  be,  and  that  he  was 
on  the  track  of  an  unusual  adventure.  The  following 
day  he  spent  in  much  the  same  way,  though  on  one 
occasion  he  told  Laramie  he  was  looking  for  a man. 
The  innkeeper  grew  a little  less  furtive  and  reticent 
after  that.  He  would  answer  casual  queries,  and 
it  did  not  take  Duane  long  to  learn  that  Laramie 
had  seen  better  days — that  he  was  now  broken,  bit- 
ter, and  hard.  Some  one  had  wronged  him. 

Several  days  passed.  Duane  did  not  succeed  in 
getting  any  closer  to  Laramie,  but  he  found  the  idlers 
on  the  corners  and  in  front  of  the  stores  unsuspicious 
and  willing  to  talk.  It  did  not  take  him  long  to  find 
out  that  Fairdale  stood  parallel  with  Huntsville  for 
gambling,  drinking,  and  fighting.  The  street  was 
always  lined  with  dusty,  saddled  horses,  the  town 
full  of  strangers.  Money  appeared  more  abundant 
than  in  any  place  Duane  had  ever  visited;  and  it 
was  spent  with  the  abandon  that  spoke  forcibly  of 
easy  and  crooked  acquirement.  Duane  decided  that 

248 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Sanderson,  Bradford,  and  Ord  were  but  notorious 
outposts  to  this  Fairdale,  which  was  a secret  center 
of  rustlers  and  outlaws.  And  what  struck  Duane 
strangest  of  all  was  the  fact  that  Longstreth  was 
mayor  here  and  held  court  daily.  Duane  knew  in- 
tuitively, before  a chance  remark  gave  him  proof, 
that  this  court  was  a sham,  a farce.  And  he  won- 
dered if  it  were  not  a blind.  This  wonder  of  his  was 
equivalent  to  suspicion  of  Colonel  Longstreth,  and 
Duane  reproached  himself.  Then  he  realized  that 
the  reproach  was  because  of  the  daughter.  Inquiry 
had  brought  him  the  fact  that  Ray  Longstreth  had 
just  come  to  live  with  her  father.  Longstreth  had 
originally  been  a planter  in  Louisiana,  where  his 
family  had  remained  after  his  advent  in  the  West. 
He  was  a rich  rancher;  he  owned  half  of  Fairdale; 
he  was  a cattle-buyer  on  a large  scale.  Floyd  Law- 
son  was  his  lieutenant  and  associate  in  deals. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  fifth  day  of  Duane’s  stay 
in  Fairdale  he  returned  to  the  inn  from  his  usual 
stroll,  and  upon  entering  was  amazed  to  have  a 
rough-looking  young  fellow  rush  by  him  out  of  the 
door.  Inside  Laramie  was  lying  on  the  floor,  with 
a bloody  bruise  on  his  face.  He  did  not  appear  to 
be  dangerously  hurt. 

“Bo  Snecker!  He  hit  me  and  went  after  the 
cash-drawer,”  said  Laramie,  laboring  to  his  feet. 

“Are  you  hurt  much?”  queried  Duane. 

“I  guess  not.  But  Bo  needn’t  to  have  soaked  me. 
I’ve  been  robbed  before  without  that.” 

“Well,  I’ll  take  a look  after  Bo,”  replied  Duane. 

He  went  out  and  glanced  down  the  street  toward 
the  center  of  the  town.  He  did  not  see  any  one  he 

249 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


could  take  for  the  inkeeper’s  assailant.  Then  he 
looked  up  the  street,  and  he  saw  the  young  fellow 
about  a block  away,  hurrying  along  and  gazing 
back. 

Duane  yelled  for  him  to  stop  and  started  to  go 
after  him.  Snecker  broke  into  a run.  Then  Duane 
set  out  to  overhaul  him.  There  were  two  motives 
in  Duane’s  action — one  of  anger,  and  the  other  a 
desire  to  make  a friend  of  this  man  Laramie,  whom 
Duane  believed  could  tell  him  much. 

Duane  was  light  on  his  feet,  and  he  had  a giant 
stride.  He  gained  rapidly  upon  Snecker,  who,  turn- 
ing this  way  and  that,  could  not  get  out  of  sight. 
Then  he  took  to  the  open  country  and  ran  straight 
for  the  green  hill  where  Longstreth’s  house  stood. 
Duane  had  almost  caught  Snecker  when  he  reached 
the  shrubbery  and  trees  and  there  eluded  him.  But 
Duane  kept  him  in  sight,  in  the  shade,  on  the  paths, 
and  up  the  road  into  the  courtyard,  and  he  saw 
Snecker  go  straight  for  Longstreth’s  house. 

Duane  was  not  to  be  turned  back  by  that,  singu- 
lar as  it  was.  He  did  not  stop  to  consider.  It 
seemed  enough  to  know  that  fate  had  directed  him 
to  the  path  of  this  rancher  Longstreth.  Duane  en- 
tered the  first  open  door  on  that  side  of  the  court. 
It  opened  into  a corridor  which  led  into  a plaza. 
It  had  wide,  smooth  stone  porches,  and  flowers  and 
shrubbery  in  the  center.  Duane  hurried  through  to 
burst  into  the  presence  of  Miss  Longstreth  and  a 
number  of  young  people.  Evidently  she  was  giving 
a little  party. 

Lawson  stood  leaning  against  one  of  the  pillars 
that  supported  the  porch  roof;  at  sight  of  Duane 

250 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

his  face  changed  remarkably,  expressing  amaze- 
ment, consternation,  then  fear. 

In  the  quick  ensuing  silence  Miss  Longs  tret h 
rose  white  as  her  dress.  The  young  women  present 
stared  in  astonishment,  if  they  were  not  equally 
perturbed.  There  were  cowboys  present  who  sud- 
denly grew  intent  and  still.  By  these  things  Duane 
gathered  that  his  appearance  must  be  disconcerting. 
He  was  panting.  He  wore  no  hat  or  coat.  His 
big  gun-sheath  showed  plainly  at  his  hip. 

Sight  of  Miss  Longstreth  had  an  unaccountable 
effect  upon  Duane.  He  was  plunged  into  confusion. 
For  the  moment  he  saw  no  one  but  her. 

“Miss  Longstreth  — I came  — to  search  — your 
house,”  panted  Duane. 

He  hardly  knew  what  he  was  saying,  yet  the  in- 
stant he  spoke  he  realized  that  that  should  have 
been  the  last  thing  for  him  to  say.  He  had  blun- 
dered. But  he  was  not  used  to  women,  and  this 
dark-eyed  girl  male  him  thrill  and  his  heart  beat 
thickly  and  his  wits  go  scattering. 

“Search  my  house!”  exclaimed  Miss  Longstreth; 
and  red  succeeded  the  white  in  her  cheeks.  She 
appeared  astonished  and  angry.  “What  for?  Why, 
how  dare  you!  This  is  unwarrantable!” 

“A  man — Bo  Snecker — assaulted  and  robbed  Jim 
Laramie,”  replied  Duane,  hurriedly.  “I  chased 
Snecker  here — saw  him  run  into  the  house.” 
“Here?  Oh,  sir,  you  must  be  mistaken.  We 
have  seen  no  one.  In  the  absence  of  my  father  I’m 
mistress  here.  I’ll  not  permit  you  to  search.” 
Lawson  appeared  to  come  out  of  his  astonishment. 
He  stepped  forward. 

17 


251 


THE  LONE  STAR,  RANGER 


“Ray,  don’t  be  bothered  now,"  he  said,  to  his 
cousin.  “This  fellow’s  making  a bluff.  I’ll  settle 
him.  See  here,  Mister,  you  clear  out!” 

“I  want  Snecker.  He's  here,  and  I’m  going  to 
get  him,”  replied  Duane,  quietly. 

“Bah!  That’s  all  a bluff,”  sneered  Lawson, 
“I’m  on  to  your  game.  You  just  wanted  an  excuse 
to  break  in  here — to  see  my  cousin  again.  When 
you  saw  the  company  you  invented  that  excuse. 
Now,  be  off,  or  it  ’ll  be  the  worse  for  you.” 

Duane  felt  his  face  burn,  with  a tide  of  hot  blood. 
Almost  he  felt  that  he  was  guilty  of  such  motive. 
Had  he  not  been  unable  to  put  this  Ray  Longstreth 
out  of  his  mind?  There  seemed  to  be  scorn  in  her 
eyes  now.  And  somehow  that  checked  his  em- 
barrassment. 

“Miss  Longstreth,  will  you  let  me  search  the 
house?”  he  asked. 

“No.” 

“Then — I 1 egret  to  say — I'll  f<o  without  your 

permission.” 

“You’ll  not  dare!”  she  flashed.  She  stood  erect, 
her  bosom  swelling. 

“Pardon  me — yes,  I will.” 

“Who  are  you?”  she  demanded,  suddenly. 

“I’m  a Texas  Ranger,”  replied  Duane. 

“A  Texas  Ranger!”  she  echoed. 

Floyd  Lawson’s  dark  face  turned  pale. 

“Miss  Longstreth,  I don’t  need  warrants  to  search 
houses,”  said  Duane.  “I’m  sorry  to  annoy  you. 
I’d  prefer  to  have  your  permission.  A ruffian  has 
taken  refuge  here — in  your  father’s  house.  He’s 
hidden  somewhere.  May  I look  for  him?” 

2TJ2 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“If  you  are  indeed  a ranger.” 

Duane  produced  his  papers.  Mis?  Longstreth 
haughtily  refused  to  look  at  them. 

“Miss  Longstreth,  Eve  come  to  make  Fairdale  a 
safer,  cleaner,  better  place  for  women  and  children. 
I don’t  wonder  at  your  resentment.  But  to  doubt 
me — insult  me.  Some  day  you  may  be  sorry.” 
Floyd  Lawson  made  a violent  motion  with  his  hands. 
“All  stuff!  Cousin,  go  on  with  your  party.  I’ll 
take  a couple  of  cowboys  and  go  with  this — this 
Texas  Ranger.” 

“Thanks,”  said  Duane,  coolly,  as  he  eyed  Lawson. 
“Perhaps  you’ll  be  able  to  find  Snecker  auicker  than 
I could.” 

“What  do  you  mean?”  demanded  Lawson,  and 
now  he  grew  lrid.  Evidently  he  was  a man  of 
fierce  quick  passions. 

“Don’t  quarrel,”  said  Miss  Longstreth.  “Floyd, 
you  go  with  him.  Please  hurry.  I’ll  be  nervous  till 
— the  man’s  found  or  you’re  sure  there’s  not  one.” 
They  started  with  several  cowboys  to  search  the 
house.  They  went  through  the  rooms  searching, 
calling  out,  peering  into  dark  places.  It  struck 
Duane  more  than  forcibly  that  Lawson  did  all  the 
calling.  He  was  hurried,  too,  tried  to  keep  in  the 
lead.  Duane  wondered  if  he  knew  his  voice  would 
be  recognized  by  the  hiding  man.  Be  that  as  it 
might,  it  was  Duane  who  peered  into  a dark  comer 
and  then,  with  a gun  leveled,  said  “Come  out!” 
He  came  forth  into  the  flare — a tall,  slim,  dark- 
faced youth,  wearing  sombrero,  blouse  and  trousers. 
Duane  collared  him  before  any  of  the  others  could 
move  and  held  the  gun  close  enough  to  make  him 

253 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


shrink.  But  he  did  not  impress  Duane  as  being 
frightened  just  then;  nevertheless,  he  had  a clammy 
face,  the  pallid  look  of  a man  who  had  just  gotten 
over  a shock.  He  peered  into  Duane’s  face,  then  into 
that  of  the  cowboy  next  to  him,  then  into  Lawson’s, 
and  if  ever  in  Duane’s  life  he  beheld  relief  it  was 
then.  That  was  all  Duane  needed  to  know,  but  he 
meant  to  find  out  more  if  he  could. 

“Who ’re  you?’’  asked  Duane,  quietly. 

“Bo  Snecker,”  he  said. 

“What ’d  you  hide  here  for?” 

He  appeared  to  grow  sullen. 

“Reckoned  I’d  be  as  safe  in  Longstreth’s  as  any- 
wheres.” 

“Ranger,  what  ’ll  you  do  with  him?”  Lawson 
queried,  as  if  uncertain,  now  the  capture  was  made. 

“I’ll  see  to  that,”  replied  Duane,  and  he  pushed 
Snecker  in  front  of  him  out  into  the  court. 

Duane  had  suddenly  conceived  the  idea  of  taking 
Snecker  before  Mayor  Longstreth  in  the  court. 

When  Duane  arrived  at  the  hall  where  court  was 
held  there  were  other  men  there,  a dozen  or  more, 
and  all  seemed  excited;  evidently,  news  of  Duane 
had  preceded  him.  Longstreth  sat  at  a table  up  on 
a platform.  Near  him  sat  a thick-set  grizzled  man, 
with  deep  eyes,  and  this  was  Hanford  Owens,  county 
judge.  To  the  right  stood  a tall,  angular,  yellow- 
faced fellow  with  a drooping  sandy  mustache.  Con- 
spicuous on  his  vest  was  a huge  silver  shield.  This 
was  Gorsech,  one  of  Longstreth’s  sheriffs.  There 
were  four  other  men  whom  Duane  knew  by  sight, 
several  whose  faces  were  familiar,  and  half  a dozen 
strangers,  all  dusty  horsemen. 

254 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Longstreth  pounded  hard  on  the  table  to  be  heard. 
Mayor  or  not,  he  was  unable  at  once  to  quell  the 
excitement.  Gradually,  however,  it  subsided,  and 
from  the  last  few  utterances  before  quiet  was  re- 
stored Duane  gathered  that  he  had  intruded  upon 
some  kind  of  a meeting  in  the  hall. 

“What  ’d  you  break  in  here  for,”  demanded  Long- 
streth. 

“Isn’t  this  the  court?  Aren’t  you  the  Mayor  of 
Fairdale?”  interrogated  Duane.  His  voice  was  clear 
and  loud,  almost  piercing. 

“Yes,”  replied  Longstreth.  Like  flint  he  seemed, 
yet  Duane  felt  his  intense  interest. 

“I’ve  arrested  a criminal,”  said  Duane. 

“Arrested  a criminal!”  ejaculated  Longstreth. 
“ You ? Who ’re  you?” 

“I’m  a ranger,”  replied  Duane. 

A significant  silence  ensued. 

“I  charge  Snecker  with  assault  on  Laramie  and 
attempted  robbery — if  not  murder.  He’s  had  a 
shady  past  here,  as  this  court  will  know  if  it  keeps 
a record.” 

“What’s  this  I hear  about  you,  Bo?  Get  up  and 
speak  for  yourself,”  said  Longstreth,  gruffly. 

Snecker  got  up,  not  without  a furtive  glance  at 
Duane,  and  he  had  shuffled  forward  a few  steps 
toward  the  Mayor.  He  had  an  evil  front,  but  not 
the  boldness  even  of  a rustler. 

“It  ain’t  so,  Longstreth,”  he  began,  loudly.  “I 
went  in  Laramie’s  place  fer  grub.  Some  feller  I 
never  seen  before  come  in  from  the  hall  an’  hit 
Laramie  an’  wrastled  him  on  the  floor.  I went  out. 
Then  this  big  ranger  chased  me  an’  fetched  me  here. 

255 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


I didn’t  do  nothin’.  This  ranger’s  hankerin’  to  ar- 
rest somebody.  Thet's  my  hunch,  Longstreth.” 

Longstreth  said  something  in  an  undertone  to 
Judge  Owens,  and  that  worthy  nodded  his  great 
bushy  head. 

“Bo,  you’re  discharged,”  said  Longstreth,  bluntly. 
“Now  the  rest  of  you  clear  out  of  here.” 

He  absolutely  ignored  the  ranger.  That  was  his 
rebuff  to  Duane — his  slap  in  the  face  to  an  inter- 
fering ranger  service.  If  Longstreth  was  crooked 
he  certainly  had  magnificent  nerve.  Duane  almost 
decided  he  was  above  suspicion.  But  his  noncha- 
lance, his  air  of  finality,  his  authoritative  assurance 
— these  to  Duane’s  keen  and  practised  eyes  were  in 
significant  contrast  to  a certain  tenseness  of  line 
about  his  mouth  and  a slow  paling  of  his  olive  skin. 
In  that  momentary  lull  Duane’s  scrutiny  of  Long- 
streth gathered  an  impression  of  the  man’s  intense 
curiosity. 

Then  the  prisoner,  Snecker,  with  a cough  that 
broke  the  spell  of  silence,  shuffled  a couple  of  steps 
toward  the  door. 

‘ ‘ Hold  on ! ” called  Duane.  The  call  halted  Snecker, 
as  if  it  had  been  a bullet. 

“Longstreth,  I saw  Snecker  attack  Laramie,” 
said  Duane,  his  voice  still  ringing.  “What  has  the 
court  to  say  to  that?” 

“The  court  has  this  to  say.  West  of  the  Pecos 
we’ll  not  aid  any  ranger  service.  We  don’t  want 
you  out  here.  Fairdale  doesn't  need  you.” 

“That’s  a lie,  Longstreth,”  retorted  Duane.  “I’ve 
letters  from  Fairdale  citizens  all  begging  for  ranger 
service.” 


256 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Longstreth  turned  white.  The  veins  corded  at 
his  temples.  He  appeared  about  to  burst  into  rage. 
He  was  at  a loss  for  quick  reply. 

Floyd  Lawson  rushed  in  and  up  to  the  table.  The 
blood  showed  black  and  thick  in  his  face;  his  utter- 
ance was  incoherent,  his  uncontrollable  outbreak 
of  temper  seemed  out  of  all  proportion  to  any  cause 
he  should  reasonably  have  had  for  anger.  Long- 
streth shoved  him  back  with  a curse  and  a warning 
glare. 

“Where’s  your  warrant  to  arrest  Snecker?” 
shouted  Longstreth. 

“I  don’t  need  warrants  to  make  arrests.  Long- 
streth, you’re  ignorant  of  the  power  of  Texas  Ran- 
gers.” 

“You’ll  come  none  of  your  damned  ranger  stunts 
out  here.  I’ll  block  you.” 

That  passionate  reply  of  Longstreth’s  was  the 
signal  Duane  had  been  waiting  for.  He  had  helped 
on  the  crisis.  He  wanted  to  force  Longstreth’s  hand 
and  show  the  town  his  stand. 

Duane  backed  clear  of  everybody. 

“Men!  I call  on  you  all!”  cried  Duane,  piercingly. 
“I  call  on  you  to  witness  the  arrest  of  a criminal  pre- 
vented by  Longstreth,  Mayor  of  Fairdale.  It  will 
be  recorded  in  the  report  to  the  Adjutant-General 
at  Austin.  Longstreth,  you’ll  never  prevent  an- 
other arrest.” 

Longstreth  sat  white  with  working  jaw. 

“Longstreth,  you’ve  shown  your  hand,”  said 
Duane,  in  a voice  that  carried  far  and  held  those 
who  heard.  “Any  honest  citizen  of  Fairdale  can 
now  see  what's  plain — -yours  is  a damn  poor  hand! 

*57 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


You’re  going  to  hear  me  call  a spade  a spade.  In 
the  two  years  you’ve  been  Mayor  you’ve  never  ar- 
rested one  rustler.  Strange,  when  Fairdale’s  a nest 
for  rustlers!  You’ve  never  sent  a prisoner  to  Dei 
Rio,  let  alone  to  Austin.  You  have  no  jail.  There 
have  been  nine  murders  during  your  office — in- 
numerable street-fights  and  holdups.  Not  one  ar- 
rest! But  you  have  ordered  arrests  for  trivial  of- 
fenses, and  have  punished  these  out  of  all  proportion, 
There  have  been  lawsuits  in  your  court— suits  over 
water-rights,  cattle  deals,  property  lines.  Strange 
how  in  these  lawsuits  you  or  Lawson  or  other  men 
close  to  you  were  always  involved!  Strange  how  it 
seems  the  law  was  stretched  to  favor  your  interest!” 

Duane  paused  in  his  cold,  ringing  speech.  In  the 
silence,  both  outside  and  inside  the  hall,  could  be 
heard  the  deep  breathing  of  agitated  men.  Long- 
streth  was  indeed  a study.  Yet  did  he.  betray  any- 
thing but  rage  at  this  interloper? 

“Longstreth,  here’s  plain  talk  for  you  and  Fair- 
dale,”  went  on  Duane.  “I  don’t  accuse  you  and 
your  corut  of  dishonesty.  I say  strange!  Law  here 
has  been  a farce.  The  motive  behind  all  this  laxity 
isn’t  plain  to  me — yet.  But  I call  your  hand!” 


CHAPTER  XVII 


DUANE  left  the  hall,  elbowed  his  way  through 
the  crowd,  and  went  down  the  street.  He  was 
certain  that  on  the  faces  of  some  men  he  had  seen 
ill-concealed  wonder  and  satisfaction.  He  had 
struck  some  kind  of  a hot  trail,  and  he  meant  to  see 
where  it  led.  It  was  by  no  means  unlikely  that 
Cheseldine  might  be  at  the  other  end.  Duane  con- 
trolled a mounting  eagerness.  But  ever  and  anon 
it  was  shot  through  with  a remembrance  of  R.ay 
Longstreth.  He  suspected  her  father  of  being  not 
what  he  pretended.  He  might,  very  probably  would, 
bring  sorrow  and  shame  to  this  young  woman.  The 
thought  made  him  smart  with  pain.  She  began  to 
haunt  him,  and  then  he  was  thinking  more  of  her 
beauty  and  sweetness  than  of  the  disgrace  he  might 
bring  upon  her.  Some  strange  emotion,  long  locked 
inside  Ehiane’s  heart,  knocked  to  be  heard,  to  be 
let  out.  He  was  troubled. 

Upon  returning  to  the  inn  he  found  Laramie  there, 
apparently  none  the  worse  for  his  injury. 

“How  are  you,  Laramie?”  he  asked. 

“Reckon  I’m  feelin’  as  well  as  could  be  expected,” 
replied  Laramie.  His  head  was  circled  by  a band- 
age that  did  not  conceal  the  lump  where  he  had 
been  struck.  He  looked  pale,  but  was  bright 
enough. 


259 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“That  was  a good  crack  Snecker  gave  you.’*  re 
marked  Duane. 

“I  ain’t  accusin’  Bo/'  remonstrated  Laramie,  with 
eyes  that  made  Duane  thoughtful. 

“Well,  I accuse  him.  I caught  him — took  him 
to  Longstreth’s  court.  But  they  let  him  go.” 
Laramie  appeared  to  be  agitated  by  this  intima- 
tion of  friendship. 

“See  here,  Laramie,”  went  on  Duane,  “in  some 
parts  of  Texas  it’s  policy  to  be  close-mouthed., 
Policy  and  health-preserving!  Between  ourselves, 
I want  you  to  know  I lean  on  your  side  of  the  fence.” 
Laramie  gave  a quick  start.  Presently  Duane 
turned  and  frankly  met  his  gaze.  He  had  startled 
Laramie  out  of  his  habitual  set  taciturnity;  but  even 
as  he  looked  the  light  that  might  have  been  amaze 
and  joy  faded  out  of  his  face,  leaving  it  the  same 
old  mask.  Still  Duane  had  seen  enough.  Like  a 
bloodhound  he  had  a scent. 

“Talking  about  work,  Laramie,  who'd  you  say 
Snecker  worked  for?” 

“I  didn’t  say.” 

“Well,  say  so  now,  can’t  you?  Laramie,  you’re 
powerful  peevish  to-day.  It’s  that  bump  on  your 
head.  Who  does  Snecker  work  for?” 

“When  he  works  at  all,  which  sure  ain’t  often, 
he  rides  for  Longstreth.” 

“Humph!  Seems  to  me  that  Longstreth’s  the 
whole  circus  round  Pairdale.  I was  some  sore  the 
other  day  to  find  I was  losing  good  money  at  Long- 
streth’s faro  game.  Sure  if  I’d  won  I wouldn’t  have 
been  sore — ha,  ha!  But  I was  surprised  to  hear 
some  one  say  Longstreth  owned  the  Hope  So  joint.” 

260 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“He  owns  considerable  property  hereabouts,”  re- 
plied Laramie,  constrainedly. 

“Humph  again!  Laramie,  like  every  other  fellow 
I meet  in  this  town,  you’re  afraid  to  open  your  trap 
about  Longstreth.  Get  me  straight,  Laramie.  I 
don’t  care  a damn  for  Colonel  Mayor  Longstreth. 
And  for  cause  I’d  throw  a gun  on  him  -just  as  quick 
as  on  any  rustler  in  Pecos.” 

“Talk’s  cheap,”  replied  Laramie,  making  light  of 
his  bluster,  but  the  red  was  deeper  in  his  face. 

“Sure.  I know  that,”  Duane  said.  “And  usual- 
ly I don’t  talk.  Then  it’s  not  well  known  that 
Longstreth  owns  the  Hope  So?” 

“Reckon  it’s  known  in  Pecos,  all  right.  But  Long- 
streth’s  name  isn’t  connected  with  the  Hope  So. 
BLudy  runs  the  place.” 

k That  Blandy.  His  faro  game’s  crooked,  or  I’m 
a locoed  bronch.  Not  that  we  don’t  have  lots  of 
crooked  faro-dealers.  A fellow  can  stand  for  them. 
But  Blandy’s  mean,  back-handed,  never  looks  you 
in  the  eyes.  That  Hope  So  place  ought  to  be  run 
by  a good  fellow  like  you,  Laramie.” 

“Thanks,”  replied  he;  and  Duane  imagined  his 
voice  a little  husky.  “Didn’t  you  hear  I used  to- 
run  it?” 

“No.  Did  you?”  Duane  said,  quickly. 

“I  reckon.  I built  the  place,  made  additions 
twice,  owned  it  for  eleven  years.” 

“Well,  I’ll  be  doggonea.”  It  was  indeed  Duane’s 
turn  to  be  surprised,  and  with  the  surprise  came  a 
glimmering.  “I’m  sorry  you’re  not  there  now. 
Did  you  sell  out?” 

“No.  Just  lost  the  place.” 

261 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Laramie  was  bursting  for  relief  now — to  talk,  to 
tell.  Sympathy  had  made  him  soft. 

“It  was  two  years  ago — two  years  last  March,” 
he  went  on.  “I  was  in  a big  cattle  deal  with  Long- 
streth.  We  got  the  stock — an’  my  share,  eighteen 
hundred  head,  was  rustled  off.  I owed  Longstreth. 
He  pressed  me.  It  come  to  a lawsuit — an’  I — was 
ruined.” 

It  hurt  Duane  to  look  at  Laramie.  He  was  white, 
and  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks.  Duane  saw  the 
bitterness,  the  defeat,  the  agony  of  the  man.  He 
had  failed  to  meet  his  obligations;  nevertheless,  he 
had  been  swindled.  All  that  he  suppressed,  all  that 
would  have  been  passion  had  the  man’s  spirit  not 
been  broken,  lay  bare  for  Duane  to  see.  He  had 
now  the  secret  of  his  bitterness.  But  the  reason,  he 
did  not  openly  accuse  Longstreth,  the  secret  ol  his 
reticence  afid  fear — these  Duane  thought  best  to 
try  to  learn  at  some  later  time. 

“Hard  luck!  It  certainly  was  tough,”  Duane 
said.  “But  you’re  a good  loser.  And  the  wheel 
turns!  Now,  Laramie,  here’s  what.  I need  your 
advice.  I’ve  got  a little  money.  But  before  I lose 
it  I want  to  invest  some.  Buy  some  stock,  or  buy 
an  interest  in  some  rancher’s  herd.  What  I want 
you  to  steer  me  on  is  a good  square  rancher.  Or 
maybe  a couple  of  ranchers,  if  there  happen  to  be 
two  honest  ones.  Ha,  ha!  No  deals  with  ranchers 
who  ride  in  the  dark  with  rustlers!  I’ve  a hunch 
Fairdale  is  full  of  them.  Now,  Laramie,  you’ve 
been  here  for  years.  Sure  you  must  know  a couple 
of  men  above  suspicion.” 

“Thank  God  I do,”  he  replied,  feelingly.  “Frank 
262 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Morton  an’  Si  Zimmer,  my  friends  an’  neighbors 
all  my  prosperous  days,  an’  friends  still.  You  can 
gamble  on  Frank  an’  Si.  But  if  you  want  advice 
from  me — don’t  invest  money  in  stock  now.” 
“Why?” 

“Because  any  new  feller  buyin’  stock  these  days 
will  be  rustled  quicker  ’n  he  can  say  Jack  Robinson. 
The  pioneers,  the  new  cattlemen — these  are  easy 
pickin’  for  the  rustlers.  Lord  knows  all  the  ranch- 
ers are  easy  enough  pickin’.  But  the  new  fellers 
have  to  learn  the  ropes.  They  don’t  know  any- 
thin’ or  anybody.  An’  the  old  ranchers  are  wise 
an’  sore.  They’d  fight  if  they — ” 

“What?”  Duane  put  in,  as  he  paused.  “If  they 
knew  who  was  rustling  the  stock?” 

“Nope.” 

“If  they  had  the  nerve?” 

“Not  thet  so  much.” 

“What  then?  What ’d  make  them  fight?” 

“A  leader!” 

“Howdy  thar,  Jim,”  boomed  a big  voice. 

A man  of  great  bulk,  with  a ruddy,  merry  face, 
entered  the  room. 

“Hello,  Morton,”  replied  Laramie.  “I’d  introduce 
you  to  my  guest  here,  but  I don’t  know  his  name.” 
“Haw!  Haw!  Thet’s  all  right.  Few  men  out 
hyar  go  by  their  right  names.” 

“Say,  Morton,”  put  in  Duane,  “Laramie  gave 
me  a hunch  you’d  be  a good  man  to  tie  to.  Now, 
I’ve  a little  money  and  before  I lose  it  I’d  like  to 
invest  it  in  stock.” 

Morton  smiled  broadly. 

“I'm  on  the  square,”  Duane  said,  bluntly.  “If 
263 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


you  fellows  never  size  up  your  neighbors  any  better 
than  you  have  sized  me — well,  you  won’t  get  any 
richer.” 

It  was  enjoyment  for  Duane  to  make  his  remarks 
to  these  men  pregnant  with  meaning.  Morton 
showed  his  pleasure,  his  interest,  but  his  faith  held 
aloof. 

‘‘I’ve  got  some  money.  Will  you  let  me  in  on 
some  kind  of  deal  ? Will  you  start  me  up  as  a stock- 
man  with  a little  herd  all  my  own?” 

“Wal,  stranger,  to  come  out  flat-footed,  you’d  be 
foolish  to  buy  cattle  now.  I don’t  want  to  take  your 
money  an’  see  you  lose  out.  Better  go  back  across 
the  Pecos  vfliere  the  rustlers  ain’t  so  strong.  I 
haven’t  had  more’n  twenty-five  hundred  herd  of 
stock  for  ten  years.  The  rustlers  let  me  hang  on 
to  a breedin’  herd.  Kind  of  them,  ain’t  it?” 

‘‘Sort  of  kind.  All  I hear  is  rustlers,  Morton,” 
replied  Duane,  with  impatience.  ‘‘You  see,  I haven’t 
ever  lived  long  in  a rustler-run  county.  Who  heads 
the  gang,  anyway?” 

Morton  looked  at  Duane  with  a curiously  amused 
smile,  then  snapped  his  big  jaw  as  if  to  shut  in  im- 
pulsive words. 

“Look  here,  Morton.  It  stands  to  reason,  no  mat- 
ter howr  strong  these  rustlers  are,  how  hidden  their 
work,  however  involved  with  supposedly  honest  men 
— they  can't  last.” 

‘ ‘ They  come  with  the  pioneers,  an’  they’ll  last  till 
thar’s  a single  steer  left,”  he  declared. 

“Well,  if  you  take  that  view  of  circumstances  I 
just  figure  you  as  one  of  the  rustlers!” 

Morton  looked  as  if  he  were  about  to  brain  Duane 
264 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


with  the  butt  of  his  whip.  His  anger  flashed  by 
then,  evidently  as  unworthy  of  him,  and,  some- 
thing striking  him  as  funny,  he  boomed  out  a laugh. 

“It’s  not  so  funny,”  Duane  went  on.  “If  you’re 
going  to  pretend  a yellow  streak,  what  else  will  I 
think?” 

“Pretend?”  he  repeated. 

“Sure.  I know  men  of  nerve.  And  here  they’re 
not  any  different  from  those  in  other  places.  I say 
if  you  show  anything  like  a lack  of  sand  it’s  all 
bluff.  By  nature  you’ve  got  nerve.  There  are  a 
lot  of  men  around  Fairdale  who  ’re  afraid  of  their 
shadows — afraid  to  be  out  after  dark — afraid  to  open 
their  mouths.  But  you’re  not  one.  So  I say  if  yon 
claim  these  rustlers  will  last  you’re  pretending  lack 
of  nerve  just  to  help  the  popular  idea  along.  For 
they  can't  last.  What  you  need  out  here  is  some  new 
blood.  Savvy  what  I mean?” 

“Wal,  I reckon  I do,”  he  replied,  looking  as  if  a 
storm  had  blown  over  him.  “Stranger,  I’ll  look  you 
up  the  next  time  I come  to  town.” 

Then  he  went  out. 

Laramie  had  eyes  like  flint  striking  fire. 

He  breathed  a deep  breath  and  looked  around  the 
room  before  his  gaze  fixed  again  on  Duane. 

“Wal,”  he  replied,  speaking  low.  “You’ve  picked 
the  kght  men.  Now,  who  in  the  hell  are  you?” 

Reaching  into  the  inside  pocket  of  his  buckskin 
vest,  Duane  turned  the  lining  out.  A star-shaped 
bright  silver  object  flashed  as  he  shoved  it,  pocket 
and  all,  under  Jim’s  hard  eyes. 

“Ranger!”  he  whispered,  cracking  the  table  with 
his  fist.  “You  sure  rung  true  to  me.” 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


‘ ‘ Laramie,  do  you  know  who’s  boss  of  this  secret 
gang  of  rustlers  hereabouts?”  asked  Duane,  bluntly. 
It  was  characteristic  of  him  to  come  sharp  to  the 
point.  His  voice — something  deep,  easy,  cool  about 
him — seemed  to  steady  Laramie. 

“No,”  replied  Laramie. 

‘‘Does  anybody  know?”  went  on  Duane. 

‘‘Wal,  I reckon  there’s  not  one  honest  native  who 
knows." 

“But  you  have  your  suspicions?” 

“We  have.” 

“Give  me  your  idea  about  this  crowd  that  hangs 
round  the  saloons — the  regulars.” 

“Jest  a bad  lot,”  replied  Laramie,  with  the  quick 
assurance  of  knowledge.  “Most  of  them  have  been 
here  years.  Others  have  drifted  in.  Some  of  them 
work,  odd  times.  They  rustle  a few  steers,  steal,  rob, 
anythin’  for  a little  money  to  drink  an’  gamble. 
Jest  a bad  lot!” 

“Have  you  any  idea  whether  Cheseldine  and  his 
gang  are  associated  with  this  gang  here?” 

“Lord  knows.  I’ve  always  suspected  them  the 
same  gang.  None  of  us  ever  seen  Cheseldine — 
an’  thet’s  strange,  when  Knell,  Poggin,  Panhandle 
Smith,  Blossom  Kane,  and  Fletcher,  they  all  ride 
here  often.  No,  Poggin  doesn’t  come  often.  But 
the  others  do.  For  thet  matter,  they’re  around  all 
over  west  of  the  Pecos.”  ' 

“Now  I’m  puzzled  over  this,”  said  Duane.  “Why 
do  men— apparently  honest  men — seem  to  be  sc 
close-mouthed  here?  Is  that  a fact,  or  only  my  im- 
pression ?” 

“It’s  a sure  fact,”  replied  Laramie,  darkly.  “Men 
266 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


have  lost  cattle  an’  property  In  Fairdale — lost  them 
honestly  or  otherwise,  as  hasn’t  been  proved.  An’ 
in  some  cases  when  they  talked — hinted  a little — 
they  was  found  dead.  Apparently  held  up  an’ 
robbed.  But  dead.  Dead  men  don’t  talk!  Thet’s 
why  we’re  close-mouthed.” 

Duane  felt  a dark,  somber  sternness.  Rustling 
cattle  was  not  intolerable.  Western  Texas  had  gone 
on  prospering,  growing  in  spite  of  the  hordes  of 
rustlers  ranging  its  vast  stretches ; but  a cold,  secret, 
murderous  hold  on  a little  struggling  community 
was  something  too  strange,  too  terrible  for  men  to 
stand  long. 

The  ranger  was  about  to  speak  again  -when  the 
clatter  of  hoofs  interrupted  him.  Horses  halted 
out  in  front,  and  one  rider  got  down.  Floyd  Lawson 
entered.  He  called  for  tobacco. 

If  his  visit  surprised  Laramie  he  did  not  show  any 
evidence.  But  Lawson  showed  rage  as  he  saw  the 
ranger,  and  then  a dark  glint  flitted  from  the  eyes 
that  shifted  from  Duane  to  Laramie  and  back  again. 
Duane  leaned  easily  against  the  counter. 

“Say,  that  was  a bad  break  of  yours,”  Lawson 
said.  “If  you  come  fooling  round  the  ranch  again 
there’ll  be  hell.” 

It  seemed  strange  that  a man  who  had  lived  west 
of  the  Pecos  for  ten  years  could  not  see  in  Duane 
something  which  forbade  that  kind  of  talk.  It  cer- 
tainly was  not  nerve  Lawson  showed;  men  of  cour- 
age were  seldom  intolerant.  With  the  matchless 
nerve  that  characterized  the  great  gunmen  of  the 
day  there  was  a cool,  unobtrusive  manner,  a speech 
brief,  almost  gentle,  certainly  courteous.  Lawson 
18  267 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


was  a hot-headed  Louisianian  of  French  extraction; 
a man,  evidently,  who  had  never  been  crossed  in 
anything,  and  who  was  strong,  brutal,  passionate, 
which  qualities  in  the  face  of  a situation  like  this 
made  him  simply  a fool. 

“I’m  saying  again,  you  used  your  ranger  bluff 
just  to  get  near  Ray  Longstreth,”  Lawson  sneered. 
“Mind  you,  if  you  come  up  there  again  there’ll  be 
hell.” 

“You’re  right.  But  not  the  kind  you  think,” 
Duane  retorted,  his  voice  sharp  and  cold. 

“Ray  Longstreth  wouldn’t  stoop  to  know  a dirty 
blood-tracker  like  you,”  said  Lawson,  hotly.  He 
did  not  seem  to  have  a deliberate  intention  to  rouse 
Duane;  the  man  was  simply  rancorous,  jealous. 
“I’ll  call  you  right.  You  cheap  bluffer!  You  four- 
flush!  You  damned  interfering,  conceited  ranger!” 

“Lawson,  I’ll  not  take  offense,  because  you  seem 
to  be  championing  your  beautiful  cousin,”  replied 
Duane,  in  slow  speech.  “But  let  me  return  your 
compliment.  You’re  a fine  Southerner!  Why, 
you’re  only  a cheap  four -flush  — damned,  bull- 
headed rustler /” 

Duane  hissed  the  last  word.  Then  for  him  there 
was  the  truth  in  Lawson’s  working  passion-blackened 
face. 

Lawson  jerked,  moved,  meant  to  draw  But  how 
slow!  Duane  lunged  forward.  His  Ions  arm  swept 
up.  And  Lawson  staggered  bae&wa'rts  knocking 
table  and  chairs,  to  fall  hard,  in  a half-sitting  pos- 
ture against  the  wall. 

“Don’t  draw!”  warned  Duane. 

‘ ‘ Lawson,  git  awav  from  your  gun !”  yelled  Laramte- 
268 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


But  Lawson  was  crazed  with  fury.  He  tugged  at 
his  hip,  his  face  corded  with  purple  welts,  malignant, 
murderous.  Duane  kicked  the  gun  out  of  his  hand. 
Lawson  got  up,  raging,  and  rushed  out. 

Laramie  lifted  his  shaking  hands. 

“What ’d  you  wing  him  for?”  he  wailed.  “He 
was  drawin’  on  you.  Kickin’  men  like  him  won’t 
do  out  here.” 

“That  bull-headed  fool  will  roar  and  butt  himself 
with  all  his  gang  right  into  our  hands.  He’s  just 
the  man  I’ve  needed  to  meet.  Besides,  shooting 
him  would  have  been  murder.” 

“Murder!”  exclaimed  Laramie. 

“Yes,  for  me,”  replied  Duane. 

“That  may  be  true — whoever  you  are — but  if 
Lawson’s  the  man  you  think  he  is  he’ll  begin  thet 
secret  underground  bizness.  Why,  Lawson  won’t 
sleep  of  nights  now.  He  an’  Longstreth  have  always 
been  after  me.” 

“Laramie,  what  are  your  eyes  for?”  demanded 
Duane.  “Watch  out.  And  now  here.  See  your 
friend  Morton.  Tell  him  this  game  grows  hot. 
Together  you  approach  four  or  five  men  you  know 
well  and  can  absolutely  trust.  I may  need  your 
help.” 

Then  Duane  went  from  place  to  place,  comer  to 
corner,  bar  to  bar,  watching,  listening,  recording. 
The  excitement  had  preceded  him,  and  speculation 
was  rife.  He  thought  best  to  keep  out  of  it.  After 
dark  he  stole  up  to  Longstreth’s  ranch.  The  eve- 
ning was  warm;  the  doors  were  open;  and  in  the  twi- 
light the  only  lamps  that  had  been  lit  were  in  Long- 
streth’s big  sitting-room,  at  the  far  end  of  the  hous 

269 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


When  a buckboard  drove  up  and  Longstreth  and 
Lawson  alighted,  Duane  was  well  hidden  in  the 
bushes,  so  well  screened  that  he  could  get  but  a 
fleeting  glimpse  of  Longstreth  as  he  went  in.  For 
all  Duane  could  see,  he  appeared  to  be  a calm  and 
quiet  man,  intense  beneath  the  surface,  with  an  air 
of  dignity  under  insult.  Duane’s  chance  to  observe 
Lawson  was  lost.  They  went  into  the  house  with- 
out speaking  and  closed  the  door. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  porch,  close  under  a win- 
dow, was  an  offset  between  step  and  wall,  and  there 
in  the  shadow  Duane  hid.  So  Duane  waited  there 
in  the  darkness  with  patience  bom  of  many  hours 
of  hiding. 

Presently  a lamp  was  lit;  and  Duane  heard  the 
swish  of  skirts. 

“Something’s  happened  surely,  Ruth,”  he  heard 
Miss  Longstreth  say,  anxiously.  “Papa  just  met 
me  in  the  hall  and  didn’t,  speak.  lie  seemed  pale, 
worried.” 

“Cousin  Floyd  looked  like  a thunder-cloud,”  said 
Ruth.  “For  once  he  didn’t  try  to  kiss  me.  Some- 
thing’s happened.  Well,  Ray,  this  has  been  a bad 
day.” 

“Oh,  dear!  Ruth,  what  can  we  do?  These  are 
wild  mem  Floyd  makes  life  miserable  for  me. 
And  he  teases  you  unmer — ” 

“I  don’t  call  it  teasing.  Floyd  wants  to  spoon,” 
declared  Ruth,  emphatically.  “He’d  run  after  any 
woman.” 

“A  fine  compliment  to  me,  Cousin  Ruth,”  laughed 
Ray. 

“I  don’t  care,”  replied  Ruth,  stubbornly.  “It’s 
270 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


so.  He’s  mushy.  And  when  he’s  been  drinking  and 
tries  to  kiss  me — I hate  him!” 

There  were  steps  on  the  hall  floor. 

“Hello,  girls!”  sounded  out  Lawson’s  voice,  minus 
its  usual  gaiety. 

“Floyd,  what’s  the  matter?”  asked  Ray,  presently. 
“I  never  saw  papa  as  he  is  to-night,  nor  you  so — so 
worried.  Tell  me,  what  has  happened?” 

“Well,  Ray,  we  had  a jar  to-day,”  replied  Law- 
son,  with  a blunt,  expressive  laugh. 

“Jar?”  echoed  both  the  girls,  curiously. 

“We  had  to  submit  to  a damnable  outrage,”  added 
Lawson,  passionately,  w,  if  the  sound  of  his  voice 
augmented  his  feeling.  “Listen,  girls;  I’ll  tell  you 
all  about  it.”  Fie  coughed,  cleared  his  throat  in  a 
way  that  betrayed  he  had  been  drinking. 

Duane  sunk  deeper  into  the  shadow  of  his  covert, 
and,  stiffening  his  muscles  for  a protracted  spell  of 
rigidity,  prepared  to  listen  with  all  acuteness  and 
intensity.  Just  one  word  from  this  Lawson,  in- 
advertently uttered  in  a moment  of  passion,  might 
be  the  word  Duane  needed  for  his  clue. 

“It  happened  at  the  town  hall,”  began  Lawson, 
rapidly.  “Your  father  and  Judge  Owens  and  I 
were  there  in  consultation  with  three  ranchers  from 
out  of  town.  Then  that  damned  ranger  stalked  in 
dragging  Snecker,  the  fellow  who  hid  here  in  the 
house.  He  had  arrested  Snecker  for  alleged  assault 
on  a restaurant -keeper  named  Laramie.  Snecker 
being  obviously  innocent,  he  was  discharged.  Then 
this  ranger  began  shouting  his  insults,  Law  wras  a 
farce  in  Fairdale.  The  court  was  a xarce.  There 
was  no  law.  Your  father’s  office  as  mayor  should 

271 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


t>r  impeached.  He  made  arrests  only  for  petty 
offenses.  He  was  afraid  of  the  rustlers,  highway- 
men, murderers.  He  was  afraid  or — he  just  let 
them  alone.  He  used  his  office  to  cheat  ranchers 
and  cattlemen  in  lawsuits.  All  this  the  ranger  yelled 
for  ever}/  one  to  hear.  A damnable  outrage.  Your 
father,  Ray,  insulted  in  his  own.  court  by  a rowdy 
ranger!” 

“Oh!”  cried  Ray  Longstreth,  in  mingled  distress 
and  anger. 

“The  ranger  service  wants  to  rule  western  Texas,” 
went  on  Lawson.  “These  rangers  are  all  a low  set, 
many  of  them  worse  than  .e  outlaws  they  hunt. 
Some  of  them  were  outlaws  and  gun-fighters  before 
they  became  rangers.  This  is  one  of  the  worst  of 
the  lot.  He’s  keen,  intelligent,  smooth,  and  that 
makes  him  more  to  be  feared.  For  he  is  to  be 
feared.  He  wanted  to  kill.  He  would  kill.  If 
your  father  had  made  the  least  move  he  would  have 
shot  him.  He’s  a cold-nerved  devil — the  born  gun- 
man. My  God,  any  instant  I expected  to  sec  your 
father  fall  dead  at  my  feet!” 

“Oh,  Floyd ! The  unspeakable  ruffian!”  cried 
Ray  Longstreth,  passionately. 

“You  see,  Ray,  this  fellow,  like  all  rangers,  seeks 
notoriety.  He  made  that  play  with  Snecker  just 
for  a chance  to  rant  against  your  father.  He  tried 
to  inflame  all  Pairdale  against  him.  That  about  the 
lawsuits  was  the  worst!  Damn  him!  He’ll  make 
us  enemies.” 

“What  do  vou  care  for  the  insinuations  of  such  a 
man?”  said  Ray  Longstreth,  her  voice  now  deep 
and  rich  with  feeling.  “After  a moment’s  thought 

272 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

no  one  will  be  influenced  by  them.  Do  not  worry, 
Floyd.  Tell  papa  not  to  worry.  Surely  after  all 
these  years  he  can’t  be  injured  in  reputation  by — by 
an  adventurer.” 

‘‘Yes,  he  can  be  injured,”  replied  Floyd,  quickly. 
“The  frontier  is  a queer  place.  There  are  many 
bitter  men  here — men  who  have  failed  at  ranching. 
And  your  father  has  been  wonderfully  successful. 
The  ranger  has  dropped  poison,  and  it  ’ll  spread.” 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


STRANGERS  rode  into  Fairdale;  and  other  hard- 
looking  customers,  new  to  Duane  if  not  to  Fair- 
dale,  helped  to  create  a charged  and  waiting  atmos- 
phere. The  saloons  did  unusual  business  and  were 
never  closed.  Respectable  citizens  of  the  town  were 
awakened  in  the  early  dawn  by  rowdies  carousing 
in  the  streets. 

Duane  kept  pretty  close  under  cover  during  the 
day.  He  did  not  entertain  the  opinion  that  the 
first  time  he  walked  down-street  he  would  be  a target 
for  guns.  Things  seldom  happened  that  way;  and 
when  they  did  happen  so,  it  was  more  accident  than 
design.  But  at  night  he  was  not  idle.  He  met 
Laramie,  Morton,  Zimmer,  and  others  of  like  char- 
acter; a secret  club  nad  been  formed;  and  all  the 
members  were  ready  for  action.  Duane  spent  hours 
at  night  watching  the  house  where  Floyd  Lawson 
stayed  when  he  was  not  up  at  Longscreth’s.  At 
night  he  was  visited,  or  at  least  the  house  was,  by 
strange  men  who  were  swift,  stealthy,  mysterious — 
all  that  kindly  disposed  friends  or  neighbors  would 
not  have  been.  Duane  had  not  been  able  to  recog- 
nize any  of  these  night  visitors;  and  he  did  not  think 
the  time  was  ripe  for  a bold  holding-up  of  one  of 
them.  Nevertheless,  he  was  sure  such  an  event 

374 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

would  discover  Lawson,  or  some  one  in  that  house, 
to  be  in  touch  with  crooked  men. 

Laramie  was  right.  Not  twenty-fours  hours  after 
his  last  talk  with  Duane,  in  which  he  advised  quick 
action,  he  was  found  behind  the  little  bar  of  his 
restaurant  with  a bullet-hole  in  his  breast,  dead.  No 
one  could  be  found  who  had  heard  a shot.  It  had 
been  deliberate  murder,  for  upon  the  bar  had  been 
left  a piece  of  paper  rudely  scrawled  with  a pencil: 
“All  friends  of  rangers  look  for  the  same.” 

This  roused  Duane.  His  first  move,  however, 
was  to  bury  Laramie.  None  of  Laramie’s  neighbors 
evinced  any  interest  in  the  dead  man  or  the  unfor- 
tunate family  he  had  left.  Duane  saw  that  these 
neighbors  were  held  in  check  by  fear.  Mrs.  Laramie 
was  ill;  the  shock  of  her  husband’s  death  was  hard 
on  her;  and  she  had  been  left  almost  destitute  with 
five  children.  Duane  rented  a small  adobe  house 
on  the  outskirts  of  town  and  moved  the  family  into 
it.  Then  he  played  the  part  of  provider  and  nurse 
and  friend. 

After  several  days  Duane  went  boldly  into  town 
and  showed  that  he  meant  business.  It  was  his 
opinion  that  there  were  men  in  Fairdale  secretly 
glad  of  a ranger’s  presence.  What  he  intended  to 
do  was  food  for  great  speculation.  A company  of 
militia  could  not  have  had  the  effect  upon  the  wild 
element  of  Fairdale  that  Duane’s  presence  had.  It 
got  out  that  he  was  a gunman  lightning  swift  on 
the  draw.  It  was  death  to  face  him.  He  had  killed 
thirty  men — wildest  rumor  of  all.  It  was  actually 
said  of  him  he  had  the  gun-skill  of  Buck  Duane  or 
of  Poggin. 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


At  first  there  had  not  only  been  great  conjecture 
among  the  vicious  element,  but  also  a very  decided 
checking  of  all  kinds  of  action  calculated  to  be  con- 
spicuous to  a keen-eyed  ranger.  At  the  tables,  at  the 
bars  and  lounging-places  Duane  heard  the  remarks: 
“Who’s  thet  ranger  after?  What  ’ll  he  do  fust  off? 
Is  he  waitin’  fer  somebody?  'Who’s  gw'n’  to  draw  on 
him  fust — an’  go  to  hell?  Jest  about  how  soon  will 
he  be  found  somewheres  full  of  lead?” 

When  it  came  out  somewhere  that  Duane  was 
openly  cultivating  the  honest  stay-at-home  citizens 
to  array  them  in  time  against  the  other  element, 
then  Fairdale  showed  its  wolf  teeth.'  Several  times 
Duane  was  shot  at  in  the  dark  and  once  slightly  in- 
jured. Rumor  had  it  that  Poggin,  the  gunman, 
was  coming  to  meet  him.  But  the  lawless  element 
did  not  rise  up  in  a mass  to  slay  Duane  on  sight. 
It  was  not  so  much  that  the  enemies  of  the  law 
awaited  his  next  move,  but  just  a slowness  peculiar 
to  the  frontier.  The  ranger  was  in  their  midst.  He 
was  interesting,  if  formidable.  He  would  have  been 
welcomed  at  card-tables,  at  the  bars,  to  play  and 
drink  with  the  men  who  knew  they  were  under  sus- 
picion. There  was  a rude  kind  of  good  humor  even 
in  their  open  hostility. 

Besides,  one  ranger  or  a company  of  rangers  could 
not  have  held  the  undivided  attention  of  these  men 
from  their  games  and  drinks  and  quarrels  except  by 
some  decided  move.  Excitement,  greed,  appetite 
were  rife  in  them.  Duane  marked,  however,  a strik- 
ing exception  to  the  usual  run  of  strangers  he  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  seeing.  Snecker  had  gone  or 
was  under  cover.  Again  Duane  caught  a vague 

276 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


rumor  of  the  coming  of  Poggin,  yet  he  never  seemed 
to  arrive.  Moreover,  the  goings-on  among  the  ha- 
bitues of  the  resorts  and  the  cowboys  who  came  in 
to  drink  and  gamble  were  unusually  mild  in  com- 
parison with  former  conduct.  This  lull,  however, 
did  not  deceive  Duane.  It  could  not  last.  The 
wonder  was  that  it  had  lasted  so  long. 

Duane  went  often  to  see  Mrs.  ' Me  and  her 
children.  One  afternoon  while  he  was  there  he  saw 
Miss  Longstreth  and  Ruth  ride  up  to  the  door. 
They  carried  a basket.  Evidently  they  had  heard 
of  Mrs.  Laramie’s  trouble.  Duane  felt  strangely 
glad,  but  he  went  into  an  adjoining  room  rather 
than  meet  them. 

“Mrs.  Laramie,  I’ve  come  to  see  you,”  said  Miss 
Longstreth,  cheerfully. 

The  little  room  was  not  very  light,  there  being 
only  one  window  and  the  doors,  but  Duane  could 
see  plainly  enough.  Mrs.  Laramie  lay,  hollow- 
cheeked and  haggard,  on  a bed.  Once  she  had  evi- 
dently been  a woman  of  some  comeliness.  The 
ravages  of  trouble  and  grief  were  there  to  read  in 
hdr  worn  face;  it  had  not,  however,  any  of  the 
hard  and  bitter  lines  that  had  characterized  her 
husband’s. 

Duane  wondered,  considering  that  Longstreth,  had 
ruined  Laramie,  how  Mrs.  Laramie  v/as  going  to 
regard  the  daughter  of  an  enemy. 

“So  you’re  Granger  Longstreth’s  girl?”  queried 
the  woman,  with  her  bright,  black  eyes  fixed  on  her 
visitor. 

“Yes,”  replied  Miss  Longstreth,  simply.  “This 
is  my  cousin,  Ruth  Herbert.  We’ve  come  to  nurse 

m 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


you,  take  care  of  the  children,  help  you  in  any  way 
you’ll  let  us.” 

There  was  a long  silence. 

‘‘Well,  you  look  a little  like  Longstreth,”  finally 
said  Mrs.  Laramie,  ‘‘but  you’re  not  at  all  like  him. 
You  must  take  after  your  mother.  Miss  Longstreth, 
I don’t  know  if  I can — if  I .ought  accept  anything 
from  you.  Your  father  ruined  my  husband.” 

‘‘Yes,  I know,”  replied  the  girl,  sadly.  “That’s 
all  the  more  reason  you  should  let  me  help  you. 
Pray  don’t  refuse.  It  will — mean  so  much  to  me.” 
If  this  poor,  stricken  woman  had  any  resentment 
it  speedily  melted  in  the  warmth  and  sweetness  of 
Miss  Longstreth’s  manner.  Duane’s  idea  was  that 
the  impression  of  Ray  Longstreth’s  beauty  was  al- 
waj^s  swiftly  succeeded  by  that  of  her  generosity 
and  nobility.  At  any  rate,  she  had  started  well  with 
Mrs.  Laramie,  and  no  sooner  had  she  begun  to  talk 
to  the  children  than  both  they  and  the  mother  were 
won.  The  opening  of  that  big  basket  was  an  event. 
Poor,  starved  little  beggars ! Duane’s  feelings  seemed 
too  easily  roused.  Plard  indeed  would  it  have  gone 
with  Jim  Laramie’s  slayer  if  he  could  have  laid  eyes 
on  him  then.  However,  Miss  Longstreth  and  Ruth, 
after  the  nature  of  tender  and  practical  girls,  did  not 
appear  to  take  the  sad  situation  to  heart.  The 
havoc  was  wrought  in  that  household.  The  needs 
now  were  cheerfulness,  kindness,  help,  action — and 
these  the  girls  furnished  with  a spirit  that  did  Duane 
good. 

“Mrs.  Laramie,  who  dressed  this  baby?”  pres- 
ently asked  Miss  Longstreth.  Duane  peeped  in  to 
see  a dilapidated  youngster  on  her  knee.  That  sight, 

278 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


if  any  other  was  needed,  completed  his  full  and 
splendid  estimate  of  Ray^  Longstreth  and  wrought 
strangely  upon  his  heart. 

“The  ranger,”  replied  Mrs.  Laramie. 

“The  ranger!”  exclaimed  Miss  Longstreth. 

“Yes,  he’s  taken  care  of  us  all  since — since — ” 
Mrs.  Laramie  choked. 

“Oh!  So  you’ve  had  no  help  but  his,”  replied 
Miss  Longstreth,  hastily.  ‘ No  women.  Too  bad! 
I’ll  send  some  one,  Mrs.  Laramie,  and  I’ll  come  my- 
self.” 

“It  ’ll  be  good  of  you,”  went  on  the  older  woman. 
“You  see,  Jim  had  few  friends — that  is,  right  in  town. 
And  they’ve  been  afraid  to  help  us — afraid  they’d 
get  what  poor  Jim — ” 

“That’s  awful!”  burst  out  Miss  Longstreth,  pas- 
sionately. “A  brave  lot  of  friends!  Mrs.  Laramie, 
don’t  you  worry  any  more.  We’ll  take  care  of  you. 
Here,  Ruth,  help  me.  Whatever  is  the  matter  with 
baby’s  dress?” 

Manifestly  Miss  Longstreth  had  some  difficulty 
in  subduing  her  emotion. 

“Why,  it’s  on  hind  side  before,”  declared  Ruth. 
“I  guess  Mr.  Ranger  hasn’t  dressed  many  babies.” 

“He  did  the  best  he  could,”  said  Mrs.  Laramie. 
“Lord  only  knows  what  would  have  become  of  us!” 

“Then  he  is — is  something  more  than  a ranger?” 
queried  Miss  Longstreth,  with  a little  break  in  her 
voice. 

“He’s  more  than  I can  tell,”  replied  Mrs.  Laramie. 
“He  buried  Jim.  He  paid  our  debts.  He  fetched 
us  here.  He  bought  food  for  us.  He  cooked  for  us 
and  fed  us.  He  washed  and  dressed  the  baby.  He 

279 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


sat  with  me  the  first  two  nights  after  Jim’s  death, 
when  I thought  I’d  die  myself.  He’s  so  kind,  so 
gentle,  so  patient.  He  has  kept  me  up  just  by  being 
near.  Sometimes  I’d  wake  from  a doze,  an’,  seeing 
him  there,  I’d  know  how  false  were  all  these  tales 
Jim  heard  about  him  and  believed  at  first.  Why, 
he  plays  with  the  children  just — just  like  any  good 
man  might.  When  he  has  the  baby  up  I just  can’t 
believe  he’s  a bloody  gunman,  as  they  say.  He’s 
good,  but  he  isn’t  happy.  He  has  such  sad  eyes. 
He  looks  far  off  sometimes  when  the  children  climb 
round  him.  They  love  him.  His  life  is  sad.  No- 
body need  tell  me — he  sees  the  good  in  things.  Once 
he  said  somebody  had  to  be  a ranger.  Well,  I say, 
‘Thank  God  for  a ranger  like  him!’” 

Duane  did  not  want  to  hear  more,  so  he  walked 
into  the  room. 

“It  was  thoughtful  of  you,”  Duane  said.  “Wom- 
ankind are  needed  here.  I could  do  so  little.  Mrs. 
Laramie,  you  look  better  already.  I’m  glad.  And 
here’s  baby,  all  clean  and  white.  Baby,  what  a 
time  I had  trying  to  puzzle  out  the  way  your  clothes 
went  on!  Well,  Mrs.  Laramie,  didn’t  I tell  you — 
friends  would  come?  So  will  the  brighter  side.” 

“Yes,  I’ve  more  faith  than  I had,”  replied  Mrs. 
Laramie.  ‘ ‘ Granger  Longstreth’s  daughter  has  come 
to  me.  There  for  a while  after  Jim’s  death  I thought 
I’d  sink.  We  have  nothing.  How  could  I ever  take 
care  of  my  little  ones?  But  I’m  gaining  courage 
to—” 

“Mrs.  Laramie,  do  not  distress  yourself  any  more,” 
said  Miss  Longstreth.  ‘ ' I shall  see  you  are  well  cared 
for.  I promise  you.” 


280 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“Miss  Longstreth,  that's  fine!”  exclaimed  Duane. 
“It’s  what  I’d  have — expected  of  you.” 

It  must  have  been  sweet  praise  to  her,  for  the 
whiteness  of  her  face  burned  out  in  a beautiful  blush. 

“And  it’s  good  of  you,  too,  Miss  Herbert,  to 
come,”  added  Duane.  “Let  me  thank  you  both. 
I’m  glad  I have  you  girls  as  allies  in  part  of  my 
lonely  task  here.  More  than  glad  for  the  sake  of 
this  good  woman  and  the  little  ones.  But  both  of 
you  be  careful  about  coming  here  alone.  There’s 
risk.  And  now  I’ll  be  going.  Good-by,  Mrs.  Lara- 
mie. I’ll  drop  in  again  to-night.  Good-by.” 

“Mr.  Ranger,  wait!”  called  Miss  Longstreth,  as 
he  went  out.  She  was  white  and  wonderful.  She 
stepped  out  of  the  door  close  to  him. 

“I  have  wronged  you!”  she  said,  impulsively. 
“Miss  Longstreth!  How  can  you  say  that?”  he 
returned. 

“I  believed  what  my  father  and  Floyd  Lawson 
said  about  you.  Now  I see — I wronged  you.” 
“You  make  me  very  glad.  But,  Miss  Longstreth, 
please  don’t  speak  of  wronging  me.  I have  been 
a — a gunman,  I am  a ranger — and  much  said  of  me 
is  true.  My  duty  is  hard  on  others — sometimes  on 
those  who  are  innocent,  alas!  But  God  knows  that 
duty  is  hard,  too,  on  me.” 

“I  did  wrong  you.  If  you  entered  my  home  again 
I would  think  it  an  honor.  I — ” 

“Please — please  don’t,  Miss  Longstreth,”  inter- 
rupted Duane. 

“But,  sir,  my  conscience  flays  me,”  she  went  on. 
There  was  no  other  sound  like  her  voice.  “Will  you 
take  my  hand?  Will  you  forgive  me?” 

281 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


She  gave  it  royally,  while  the  other  was  there 
pressing  at  her  breast.  Duane  took  the  proffered 
hand.  He  did  not  know  what  else  to  do. 

Then  it  seemed  to  dawn  upon  him  that  there  was 
more  behind  this  white,  sweet,  noble  intensity  of 
her  than  just  the  making  amends  for  a fancied  or 
real  wrong.  Duane  thought  the  man  did  not  live 
on  earth  who  could  have  resisted  her  then. 

“I  honor  you  for  your  goodness  to  this  unfortu- 
nate woman,”  she  said,  and  now  her  speech  came 
swiftly.  “When  she  was  all  alone  and  helpless  you 
were  her  friend.  It  was  the  deed  of  a man.  But  Mrs. 
Laramie  isn’t  the  only  unfortunate  woman  in  the 
world.  I,  too,  am  unfortunate.  Ah,  how  I may 
soon  need  a friend!  Will  you  be  my  friend?  I’m  so 
alone.  I’m  terribly  worried.  I fear — I fear — Oh, 
surely  I’ll  need  a friend  soon — soon.  Oh,  I’m  afraid 
of  what  3^ou’ll  find  out  sooner  or  later.  I want  to  help 
you.  Let  us  save  life  if  not  honor.  Must  I stand 
alone — all  alone?  Will  you — will  you  be — ” Her 
voice  failed. 

It  seemed  to  Duane  that  she  must  have  discovered 
what  he  had  begun  to  suspect — that  her  father  and 
Lawson  were  not  the  honest  ranchers  they  pretend- 
ed to  be.  Perhaps  she  knew  more!  Her  appeal  to 
Duane  shook  him  deeply.  He  wanted  to  help  her 
more  than  he  had  ever  wanted  anything.  And  with 
the  meaning  of  the  tumultuous  sweetness  she  stirred 
in  him  there,  came  realization  of  a dangerous  situ- 
ation. 

“I  must  be  true  to  my  duty,”  he  said,  hoarsely. 

“If  you  knew  me  you’d  know7'  I could  never  ask 
you  to  be  false  to  it.” 


282 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“Well,  then — I’ll  do  anything  for  you.” 

“Oh,  thank  you!  Tm  ashamed  that  I believed 
my  cousin  Floyd!  He  lied — he  lied.  I’m  all  in  the 
dark,  strangely  distressed.  My  father  wants  me 
to  go  back  home.  Floyd  is  trying  to  keep  me  here. 
They’ve  quarreled.  Oh,  I know  something  dread- 
ful will  happen.  I know  I’ll  need  you  if — if — 
Will  you  help  mei” 

“Yes,”  replied  "Duane,  and  his  look  brought  the 

blood  to  her  face. 

19 


CHAPTER  XIX 


AFTER  supper  Duane  stole  out  for  his  usual 
A evening’s  spying.  The  night  was  dark,  without 
starlight,  and  a stiff  wind  rustled  the  leaves.  Duane 
bent  his  steps  toward  Longstreth’s  ranch-house.  He 
had  so  much  to  think  about  that  he  never  knew 
where  the  time  went.  This  night  when  he  reached 
the  edge  of  the  shrubbery  he  heard  Lawson’s  well- 
known  footsteps  and  saw  Longstreth’s  door  open, 
flashing  a broad  bar  of  light  in  the  darkness.  Law- 
son  crossed  the  threshold,  the  door  closed,  and  all 
was  dark  again  outside.  Not  a ray’  of  light  escaped 
from  the  window. 

Little  doubt  there  was  that  his  talk  with  Long- 
streth  would  be  interesting  to  Duane.  He  tiptoed 
to  the  door  and  listened,  but  could  hear  only  a mur- 
mur of  voices.  Besides,  that  position  was  too  risky. 
He  went  round  the  comer  of  the  house. 

This  side  of  the  big  adobe  house  was  of  much 
older  construction  than  the  back  and  larger  part. 
There  was  a narrow  passage  between  the  houses, 
leading  from  the  outside  through  to  the  patio. 

This  passage  now  afforded  Duane  an  opportunity, 
and  he  decided  to  avail  himself  of  it  in  spite  of  the 
very  great  danger.  Crawling  on  very  stealthily,  he 
got  under  the  shrubbery  to  the  entrance  of  the  pas- 
sage. In  the  blackness  a faint  streak  of  light  showed 

284 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


the  location  of  a crack  in  the  wall.  He  had  to  slip 
in  sidewise.  It  was  a tight  squeeze,  but  he  entered 
without  the  slightest  noise.  As  he  progressed  the 
passage  grew  a very  little  wider  in  that  direction, 
and  that  fact  gave  rise  to  the  thought  that  in  case 
of  a necessary  and  hurried  exit  he  would  do  best 
by  working  toward  the  patio.  It  seemed  a good 
deal  of  time  was  consumed  in  reaching  a vantage- 
point.  When  he  did  get  there  the  crack  he  had 
marked  was  a foot  over  his  head.  There  was  nothing 
to  do  but  find  toe-holes  in  the  crumbling  walls,  and 
by  bracing  knees  on  one  side,  back  against  the  other, 
hold  himself  up.  Once  with  his  eye  there  he  did  not 
care  what  risk  he  ran.  Longstreth  appeared  dis- 
turbed; he  sat  stroking  his  mustache ; his  brow  was 
clouded.  Lawson’s  face  seemed  darker,  more  sul- 
_*en,  yet  lighted  by  some  indomitable  resolve. 

“We’ll  settle  both  deals  to-night,”  Lawson  was 
saying.  “That’s  what  I came  for.” 

“But  suppose  I don’t  choose  to  talk  here?”  pro- 
tested Longstreth,  impatiently.  “I  never  before 
made  my  house  a place  to — ” 

“We’ve  waited  long  enough.  This  place ’s  as  good 
as  any.  You’ve  lost  your  nerve  since  that  ranger 
hit  the  town.  First  now,  will  you  give  Ray  to  me?” 
“Floyd,  you  talk  like  a spoiled  boy.  Give  Ray 
to  you!  Why,  she’s  a woman,  and  I’rn  finding  out 
that  she’s  got  a mind  of  her  own.  I told  you  I was 
willing  for  her  to  marry  you.  I tried  to  persuade 
her  But  Ray  hasn’t  any  use  for  you  now.  She 
liked  you  at  first.  But  now  she  doesn’t.  So  what 
can  I do?” 

“You  can  make  her  marry  me,”  replied  Lawson. 

381; 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“Make  that  girl  dc  what  she  doesn’t  want  to? 
It  couldn’t  be  done  evt:i  if  I tried.  And  I don’t 
believe  I’ll  try.  I haven't  the  highest  opinion  of 
you  as  a prospective  son-in-law,  Floyd.  But  if  Ray 
loved  you  I would  consent.  We'd  all  go  away  to- 
gether before  this  damned  miserab'e  business  is  out. 
Tfien  she’d  never  know.  And  maybe  3/ou  might 
be  more  like  you  used  to  be  be  ore  : ie  West  ruined 
you.  But  as  matters  stand,  ou  tight  your  own 
game  with  her.  And  I’ll  tell  you  now  you’ll  lose.” 
“What ’d  you  want  to  let  her  come  out  here  for?” 
demanded  Lawson,  hotly.  “It  was  a dead  mistake. 
I’ve  lost  my  head  over  her.  I’ll  have  her  or  die 
Don’t  you  think  if  she  was  my  wife  I’d  soon  pull 
myself  together?  Since  she  came  we’ve  none  of  us 
been  right.  And  the  gang  has  put  up  a holler.  No, 
Longstreth,  we’ve  got  to  settle  things  to-night.” 
“Well,  we  can  settle  what  Ray’s  concerned  in, 
right  now,”  replied  Longstreth,  rising.  “Come  on; 
well  ask  her.  See  where  you  stand.” 

They  went  out,  leaving  the  door  open.  Duane 
dropped  down  to  rest  himself  and  to  wait.  He 
would  have  liked  to  hear  Miss  Longstreth’s  an- 
swer. But  he  could  guess  what' it  would  be.  Law- 
son  appeared  to  be  all  Duane  had  thought  him,  and 
he  believed  he  was  going  to  find  out  presently  that 
he  -was  worse. 

The  men  seemed  to  be  absent  a good  while, 
though  that  feeling  might  have  been  occasioned  by 
Duane’s  thrilling  interest  and  anxiety.  Finally  he 
he”|rd  heavy  steps.  Lawson  came  ih  alone.  He  was 
leaden-faced,  humiliated.  Then  something  abject 
in  him  gave  place  to  rage.  He  strode  the  room  ; he 

286 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


cursed.  Then  Longstreth  returned,  now  apprecia- 
bly calmer.  Duane  could  not  but  decide  that  he 
felt  relief  at  the  evident  rejection  of  Lawson’s  pro- 
posal. 

“Don’t  fuss  about  it,  Floyd,”  he  said.  “You  see 
I can’t  help  it.  We’re  pretty  wild  out  here,  but  I 
can’t  rope  my  daughter  and  give  her  to  you  as  I 
would  an  unruly  steer.” 

“Longstreth,  I can  make  her  marry  me,”  de- 
clared Lawson,  thickly. 

“How?” 

“You  know  the  hold  I got  on  you — the  deal  that 
made  you  boss  of  this  rustler  gang?” 

“It  isn’t  likely  I’d  forget,”  replied  Longstreth, 
grimly. 

“I  can  go  to  Ray,  tell  her  that,  make  her  be- 
lieve I’d  tell  it  broadcast — tell  this  ranger — unless 
she’d  marry  me.” 

Lawson  spoke  breathlessly,  with  haggard  face 
and  shadowed  eyes.  He  had  no  shame.  He  was 
simply  in  the  grip  of  passion. 

Longstreth  gazed  with  dark,  controlled  fury  at 
this  relative.  In  that  look  Duane  saw  a strong, 
unscrupulous  man  fallen  into  evil  ways,  but  still  a 
man.  It  betrayed  Lawson  to  be  the  wild  and  pas- 
sionate weakling.  Duane  seemed  to  see  also  how 
during  all  the  years  of  association  this  strong  man 
had  upheld  the  weak  one.  But  that  time  had  gone 
for  ever,  both  in  intent  on  Longstreth’s  part  and  in 
possibility.  Lawson,  like  the  great  majority  of  evil 
and  unrestrained  men  on  the  border,  had  reached  a 
point  where  influence  was  futile.  Reason  had  de- 
generated. He  saw  only  himself. 

287 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“But,  Floyd,  Ray’s  the  one  person  on  earth  who 
must  never  know  I’m  a rustler,  a thief,  a red-handed 
ruler  of  the  worst  gang  on  the  border,”  replied  Long- 
streth,  impressively. 

Floyd  bowed  his  head  at  that,  as  if  the  signifi- 
cance had  just  occurred  to  him.  But  he  was  not 
long  at  a loss. 

“She’s  going  to  find  it  out  sooner  or  later.  I tell 
you  she  knows  now  there’s  something  wrong  out 
here.  She’s  got  eyes.  Mark  what  I say.” 

“Ray  has  changed,  I know.  But  she  hasn’t  any 
idea  yet  that  her  daddy’s  a boss  rustler.  Ray’s 
concerned  about  what  she  calls  my  duty  as  mayor. 
Also  I think  she’s  not  satisfied  with  my  explanations 
in  regard  to  certain  property.” 

Lawson  halted  in  his  restless  walk  and  leaned 
against  the  stone  mantelpiece.  He  had  his  hands  in 
his  pockets.  He  squared  himself  as  if  this  was  his 
last  stand.  He  looked  desperate,  but  on  the  moment 
showed  an  absence  of  his  usual  nervous  excitement. 

“Longstreth,  that  may  well  be  true,”  he  said. 
“No  doubt  all  you  say  is  true.  But  it  doesn’t  help 
me.  I want  the  girl.  If  I don’t  get  her — I reckon 
we’ll  all  go  to  hell!” 

He  might  have  meant  anything,  probably  meant 
the  worst.  He  certainly  had  something  more  in 
mind.  Longstreth  gave  a slight  start,  barely  per- 
ceptible, like  the  switch  of  an  awakening  tiger.  He 
sat  there,  head  down,  stroking  his  mustache.  Almost 
Duane  saw  his  thought.  He  had  long  experience  in 
reading  men  under  stress  of  such  emotion.  He  had 
no  means  to  vindicate  his  judgment,  but  his  con- 
viction was  that  Longstreth  right  then  and  there 

288 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


decided  that  the  thing  to  do  was  to  kill  Lawson. 
For  Duane’s  part  he  wondered  that  Longstreth  had 
not  come  to  such  a conclusion  before.  Not  im- 
probably the  advent  of  his  daughter  had  put  Long- 
streth in  conflict  with  himself. 

Suddenly  he  threw  off  a somber  cast  of  counte- 
nance, and  he  began  to  talk.  He  talked  swiftly,  per- 
suasively, yet  Duane  imagined  he  was  talking  to 
smooth  Lawson’s  passion  for  the  moment.  Lawson 
no  more  caught  the  fateful  significance  of  a line 
crossed,  a limit  reached,  a decree  decided  than  if  he 
had  not  been  present.  He  was  obsessed  with  him- 
self. How,  Duane  wondered,  had  a man  of  his 
mind  ever  lived  so  long  and  gone  so  far  among  the 
exacting  conditions  of  the  Southwest?  The  answer 
was,  perhaps,  that  Longstreth  had  guided  him,  up- 
held him,  protected  him.  The  coming  of  Ray  Long- 
streth had  been  the  entering-wedge  of  dissension. 

“You’re  too  impatient,”  concluded  Longstreth. 
“You’ll  ruin  any  chance  of  happiness  if  you  rush 
Ray.  She  might  be  won.  If  you  told  her  who  I 
am  she’d  hate  you  for  ever.  She  might  marry  you 
to  save  me,  but  she’d  hate  you.  That  isn’t  the 
way.  Wait.  Play  for  time.  Be  different  with  her. 
Cut  out  your  drinking.  She  despises  that.  Let’s  plan 
to  sell  out  here — stock,  ranch,  property — and  leave 
the  country.  Then  you’d  have  a show  with  her.” 
“I  told  you  we’ve  got  to  stick,”  growled  Lawson. 
“The  gang  won't  stand  for  our  going.  It  can’t  be 
done  unless  you  want  to  sacrifice  everything.” 
“You  mean  double-cross  the  men  ? Go  without  their 
knowing  ? Leave  them  here  to  face  whatever  comes  ?” 
“I  mean  just  that.” 


289 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“I’m  bad  enough,  but  not  that  bad,”  returned 
Longstreth.  “If  I can’t  get  the  gang  to  let  me  off, 
Til  stay  and  face  the  music.  All  the  same,  Lawson, 
did  it  ever  strike  you  that  most  of  the  deals  the  last 
few  years  have  been  yours  f” 

“Yes.  If  I hadn’t  rung  them  in  there  wouldn’t 
have  been  any.  You’ve  had  cold  feet,  and  especial- 
ly since  this  ranger  has  been  here.'’ 

“Well,  call  it  cold  feet  if,  you  like.  But  I call  it 
sense.  We  reached  our  limit  long  ago.  We  began 
by  rustling  a few  cattle — at  a time  when  rustling  was 
laughed  at.  But  as  our  greed  grew  so  did  our  bold- 
ness. Then  came  the  gang,  the  regular  trips,  the 
one  thing  and  another  till,  before  we  knew  it — before 
I knew  it — we  had  shady  deals,  holdups,  and  murders 
on  our  record.  Then  we  had  to  go  on.  Too  late  to 
turn  back!” 

“I  reckon  we’ve  all  said  that.  None  of  the  gang 
wants  to  quit.  They  all  think,  and  I think,  we  can’t 
be  touched.  We  may  be  blamed,  but  nothing  can 
be  proved.  We’re  too  strong.” 

“There’s  where  you’re  dead  wrong,”  rejoined 
Longstreth,  emphatically.  “I  imagined  that  once, 
not  long  ago.  I was  bull-headed.  Who  would  ever 
connect  Granger  Longstreth  with  a rustler  gang? 
I’ve  changed  my  mind.  I’ve  begun  to  think.  I’ve 
reasoned  out  things.  We’re  crooked,  and  we  can’t 
last.  It’s  the  nature  of  life,  even  here,  for  conditions 
to  grow  better.  The  wise  deal  for  us  would  be  to 
divide  equally  and  leave  the  country,  all  of  us.” 
“But  you  and  I have  all  the  stock — all  the  gain,” 
protested  Lawson. 

"I’ll  split  mine.” 


290 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“I  won’t — that  settles  that,”  added  Lawson,  in* 
stantly. 

Longstreth  spread  wide  his  hands  as  if  it  was  use- 
less to  try  to  convince  this  man.  Talking  had  not 
increased  his  calmness,  and  he  now  showed  more  than 
impatience.  A dull  glint  gleamed  deep  in  his  eyes. 

‘‘Your  stock  and  property  will  last  a long  time — 
do  you  lots  of  good  when  this  ranger — ” 

“Bah!”  hoarsely  croaked  Lawson.  The  ranger’s 
name  was  a match  applied  to  powder.  “Haven’t  I 
told  you  he’d  be  dead  soon — any  time-— same  as , 
Laramie  is?” 

“Yes,  you  mentioned  the — the  supposition,”  re- 
plied Longstreth,  sarcastically.  “I  inquired,  too,  just 
how  that  very  desired  event  was  to  be  brought  about.” 

“The  gang  will  lay  Him  out.” 

“Bah!”  retorted  Longstreth,  in  turn.  He  laughed 
contemptuously. 

“Floyd,  dcn’t  be  a fool.  You’ve  been  on  the 
border  for  ten  years.  You’ve  packed  a gun  and 
you’ve  used  it.  You’ve  been  with  rustlers  when 
they  killed  their  men.  You’ve  been  present  at  many 
fights.  But  you  never  in  all  that  time  saw  a man 
like  this  ranger.  You  haven’t  got  sense  enough  to 
see  him  right  if  you  had  a chance.  Neither  have 
any  of  you.  The  only  way  to  get  rid  of  him  is  for 
the  gang  to  draw  on  him,  all  at  once.  Then  he’s 
going  to  drop  some  of  them.” 

Longstreth,  you  say  that  like  a man  who  wouldn’t 
care  much  if  he  did  drop  some  of  them,”  declared 
Lawson;  and  now  he  was  sarcastic. 

“To  tell  you  the  truth,  I wouldn’t,”  returned  the 
other,  bluntly.  “I’m  pretty  sick  of  this  mess.” 

291 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Lawson  cursed  in  amazement.  His  emotions 
were  all  out  of  proportion  to  his  intelligence.  He 
was  not  at  all  quick-witted.  Duane  had  never  seen 
a vainer  or  more  arrogant  man. 

“Longstreth,  I don’t  like  your  talk,”  he  said. 

“If  you  don’t  like  the  way  I talk  you  know  what 
you  can  do,”  replied  Longstreth,  quickly.  He  stood 
up  then,  cool  and  quiet,  with  flash  of  eyes  and  set 
of  lips  that  told  Duane  he  was  dangerous. 

“Well,  after  all,  that’s  neither  here  nor  there,” 
went  on  Lawson,  unconsciously  cowed  by  the  other. 
“The  thing  is,  do  I - et  the  girl?” 

“Not  by  any  means  except  her  consent.” 

“You’ll  not  make  her  marry  me?” 

“No.  No,”  replied  Longstreth,  his  voice  still 
cold,  low-pitched. 

“All  right.  Then  I’ll  make  her.” 

Evidently  Longstreth  understood  the  man  before 
him  so  well  that  he  wasted  no  more  words.  Duane 
knew  what  Lawson  never  dreamed  of,  and  that  was 
that  Longstreth  had  a gun  somewhere  within  reach 
aftd  meant  to  use  it.  Then  heavy  footsteps  sounded 
outside  tramping  upon  the  porch.  Duane  might 
Have  been  mistaken,  but  he  believed  those  footsteps 
saved  Lawson’s  life. 

“There  they  are,”  said  Lawson,  and  he  opened  the 
door. 

Five  masked  men  entered.  They  all  wore  coats 
hiding  any  weapons.  A big  man  with  burly  shoul- 
ders shook  hands  with  Longstreth,  and  the  others 
stood  back. 

The  atmosphere  of  that  room  had  changed.  Law- 
son  might  have  been  a nonentity  for  all  he  counted. 

292 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Longstreth  was  another  man — a stranger  to  Dugne. 
If  he  had  entertained  a hope  of  freeing  himself  f?om 
this  band,  of  getting  away  to  a safer  country,  he 
abandoned  it  at  the  very  sight  of  these  men.  There 
was  power  here,  and  he  was  bound. 

The  big  man  spoke  in  low,  hoarse  whispers,  and 
at  this  all  the  others  gathered  around  him  close  to 
the  table.  There  were  evidently  some  signs  of  mem- 
bership not  plain  to  Duane.  Then  all  the  heads 
were  bent  over  the  table.  Low  voices  spoke,  quer- 
ied, answered,  argued.  By  straining  his  ears  Duane 
caught  a word  here  and  there.  They  were  planning, 
and  they  were  brief.  Duane  gathered  they  were  to 
have  a rendezvous  at  or  near  Ord. 

Then  the  big  man,  who  evidently  was  the  leader 
of  the  present  convention,  got  up  to  depart.  He 
went  as  swiftly  as  he  had  come,  and  was  followed 
by  his  comrades.  Longstreth  prepared  for  a quiet 
smoke.  Lawson  seemed  uncommunicative  and  un- 
sociable. He  smoked  fiercely  and  drank  continual- 
ly. All  at  once  he  straightened  up  as  if  listening. 

“What’s  that?”  he  called,  suddenly. 

Duane’s  strained  ears  were  pervaded  by  a slight 
rustling  sound. 

“Must  be  a rat,”  replied  Longstreth. 

The  rustle  became  a rattle. 

“Sounds  like  a rattlesnake  to  me,”  said  Lawson. 

Longstreth  got  up  from  the  table  and  peered 
round  the  room. 

Just  at  that  instant  Duane  felt  an  almost  inap- 
preciable movement  of  the  adobe  wall  which  sup- 
ported him.  He  could  scarcely  credit  his  senses. 
But  the  rattle  inside  Longstreth’s  room  was  mingling 

293 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


with,  little  dull  thuds  of  falling  dirt.  The  adobe  wall, 
merely  dried  mud,  was  crumbling.  Duane  distinct- 
ly felt  a tremor  pass  through  it.  Then  the  blood 
gushed  back  to  his  heart. 

"What  in  the  hell!”  exclaimed  Longstreth. 

"1  smell  dust,”  said  Lawson,  sharply. 

That  was  the  signaller  Duane  to  drop  down  from 
his  perch,  yet  despite  his  care  he  made  a noise. 

"Did  you  hear  a step?”  queried  Longstreth. 

No  one  answered.  But  a heavy  piece  of  the  adobe 
wall  fell  with  a thud.  Duane  heard  it  crack,  felt  it 
shake, 

"There’s  somebody  between  the  walls!”  thundered 
Longstreth. 

Then  a section  of  the  wall  fell  inward  with  a 
crash.  Duane  began  to  squeeze  his  body  through 
the  narrow  passage  toward  the  patio. 

"Hear  him!”  yelled  Lawson.  "This  side!” 

"No,  he’s  going  that  way,”  yelled  Longstreth. 

The  tramp  of  heavy  bools  lent  Duane  the  strength 
of  ^desperation.  He  was  not  shirking  a fight,  but  to 
be  cornered  like  a trapped  coyote  was  another  matte  . 
He  almost  tore  his  clothes  off  in  that  passage.  The 
dust  nearly  stifled  him.  When  he  burst  into  the 
patio  it  was  not  a single  instant  too  soon.  But  one 
dfeep  gasp  of  breath  revived  him  and  he  was  up,  gun 
ihThand,  running  for  the  outlet  into  the  court. 
Thumping  footsteps  turned  him  back.  While  there 
was.,  a chance  to  get  away  he  did  not  want  tc  fight. 
He  thought  he  heardTsome  one  running  into  the  patio 
from  the  other  end.  He  stole  along,  and  coming  to 
a ddor,  without  any  idea  of  where  it  might  lead,  he 
softly  pushed  it  open  a little  way  and  slipped  in. 


CHAPTER  XX 


ALOW  cry  greeted  Duane.  The  room  was  light. 
He  saw  Ray  Longstreth  sitting  on  her  bed  in 
her  dressing-gown.  With  a warning  gesture  to  her 
to  be  silent  he  turned  to  close  the  door.  It.W»£»a 
heavy  door  without  bolt  or  bar,  and  when  Duane- 
had  shut  it  he  felt  safe  only  for  the  moment.  Then 
he  gazed  around  the  room.  There  was  one  window 
with  blind  closely  drawn.  He  listened  and  seemed 
to  hear  footsteps  retreating,  dying  away. 

Then  Duane  turned  to  Miss  Longstreth.  She  had 
slipped  off  the  bed,  half  to  her  knees,  and  was  holding 
out  trembling  hands.  She  was  as  white  as  the  pillow 
on  her  bed.  She  was  terribly  frightened.  Again  with 
warning  hand  commanding  silence,  Duane  stepped 
softly  forward,  meaning  to  reassure  her. 

“Oh!”  she  whispered,  wildly;  and  Duane  thought 
she  was  going  to  faint.  When  he  got  close  and  looked 
into  her  eyes  he  understood  the  strange,  dark  ex- 
pression in  them.  She  was  "terrified  because  she  be- 
lieved he  meant  to  kill  her,  or  do  worse,  probably 
worse.  Duane  realized  he  must  have  looked  pretty 
hard  and  fierce  bursting  into  her  room  with  that  bjg 
gun  in  hand. 

The  way  she  searched  Duane’s  face  with  doubtful, 
fearful  eyes  hurt  him. 

“Listen.  I didn’t  know  this  was  your  room.  I 
*95 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


came  here  to  get  away — to  save  my  life.  I was  pur- 
sued. I was  spying  on — on  your  father  and  his  men. 
They  heard  me,  but  did  not  see  me.  They  don’t 
know  who  was  listening.  They’re  after  me  now.” 

Her  eyes  changed  from  blank  gulfs  to  dilating, 
shadowing,  quickening  windows  of  thought. 

Then  she  stood  up  and  faced  Duane  with  the  fire 
and  intelligence  of  a woman  in  her  eyes. 

“Tell  me  now.  You  were  spying  on  my  father?” 

Briefly  Duane  told  her  what  had  happened  before 
he  entered  her  room,  not  omitting-  a terse  word  as 
to  the  character  of  the  men  he  had  watched. 

“My  God!  So  it’s  that?  I knew  something  was 
terribly  wrong  here — with  him — with  the  place — 
the  people.  And  right  oft  I hated  Floyd  Lawson. 
Oh,  it  ’ll  kill  me  if — if — It’s  so  much  worse  than  I 
dreamed.  What  shall  I do?” 

The  sound  of  soft  steps  somewhere  near  distracted 
Duane’s  attention,  reminded  him  of  her  peril,  and 
now,  what  counted  more  with  him,  made  clear  the 
.probability  of  being  discovered  in  her  room. 

“I’ll  have  to  get  out  of  here,”  whispered  Duane. 

“Wait,”  she  replied.  “Didn’t  you  say  they  were 
hunting  for  you?” 

“They  sure  are,”  he  returned,  grimly. 

“Oh,  then  you  mustn’t  go.  They  might  shoot  you 
before  you  got  away.  Stay.  If  we  hear  them  you 
can  hide.  I’ll  turn  out  the  light.  I’ll  meet  them  at 
the  door.  You  can  trust  me.  Wait  till  all  quiets 
down,  if  we  have  to  wait  till  morning.  Then  you 
can  slip  out.” 

“I  oughtn’t  to  stay.  I don’t  want  to — I won’t,” 
Duane  replied,  perplexed  and  stubborn. 

296 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“But  you  must.  It’s  the  only  safe  way.  They 
won’t  come  here.” 

“Suppose  they  should?  It’s  an  even  chanpe 
Longstreth  ’ll  search  every  room  and  corner  in  this 
old  house.  If  they  found  me  here  I couldn’t  start 
a fight.  You  might  be  hurt.  Then — the  fact  of  my 
being  here — ” 

Duane  did  not  finish  what  he  meant,  but  instead 
made  a step  toward  the  door.  White  of  face  and  dark 
of  eye,  she  took  hold  of  him  to  detain  him.  She 
was  as  strong  and  supple  as  a panther.  But  she 
need  not  have  been  either  resolute  or  strong,  for  the 
clasp  of  her  hand  was  enough  to  make  Duane  weak. 

“Up  yet,  Ray?”  came  Longstreth’s  clear  voice, 
too  strained,  too  eager  to  be  natural. 

“No.  I’m  in  bed  reading.  Good  night,”  in- 
stantly replied  Miss  Longstreth,  so  calmly  and  natu- 
rally that  Duane  marveled  at  the  difference  between 
man  and  woman.  Then  she  motioned  for  Duane 
to  hide  in  the  closet.  He  slipped  in,  but  the  door 
would  not  close  altogether. 

“Are  you  alone?”  went  on  Longstreth’s  pene- 
trating voice. 

“Yes,”  she  replied.  “Ruth  went  to  bed.” 

The  door  swung  inward  with  a swift  scrape  and 
jar.  Longstreth  half  entered,  haggard,  flaming- 
eyed.  Behind  him  Duane  saw  Lawson,  and  indis- 
tinctly another  man. 

Longstreth  barred  Lawson  from  entering,  whigh 
action  showed  control  as  well  as  distrust.  He  wanted 
to  see  into  the  room.  When  he  had  glanced  around 
he  went  out  and  closed  the  door. 

Then  what  seemed  a long  interval  ensued.  The 
297 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


house  grew  silent  once  more.  Duane  could  not  see 
Miss  Longstreth,  but  he  heard  her  quick  breathing. 
How  long  did  she  mean  to  let  him  stay  hidden  there? 
Hard  and  perilous  as  his  life  had  been,  this  wras  a 
new  kind  of  adventure.  He  had  divined  the  strange 
softness  of  his  feeling  as  something  due  to  the  mag- 
netism of  this  beautiful  woman.  It  hardly  seemed 
possible  that  he,  who  had  been  outside  the  pale  for 
so  many  years,  could  have  fallen  in  love.  Yet  that 
must  be  the  secret  of  his  agitation. 

Presently  he  pushed  open  the  closet  door  and 
stepped  forth.  Miss  Longstreth  had  her  head  lowered 
upon  her  arms  and  appeared  to  be  in  distress.  At 
His  touch  she  raised  a quivering  face. 

“I  think  I can  go  now — safely,”  he  whispered. 
“Go  then,  if  you  must,  but  you  may  stay  till 
you’re  safe,”  she  replied. 

“I— -I  couldn’t  thank  you  enough.  It’s  been  hard 
on  me — this  finding  out — and  you  his  daughter.  I 
feel  strange.  I don’t  understand  myself  well.  But 
I want  you  to  know — if  I were  not  an  outlaw — a 
ranger — I’d  lay  my  life  at'  your  feet.” 

“'Oh ! You  have  seen  so — so  little  of  me,”  she 
faltered. 

“ Ail  the  same  it’s  true.  And  that  makes  me  feel 
more  the  trouble  my  coming  caused  you.” 

<rYou  will  not  fight  my  father?” 

““Not  if  I can  help  it.  I’m  trying  to  get  out  of 
ifts  way.” 

“But  you  spied  upon  him.” 

“I  am  a ranger,  Miss  Longstreth.” 

“And  oh!  I am  a rustler’s  daughter,”  she  cried. 
“That’s  so  much  more  terrible  than  I’d  suspect- 

298 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


ed.  It  was  tricky  cattle  deals  I imagined  he  was  en- 
gaged in.  But  only  to-night  I had  strong  suspicions 
aroused.” 

“"How?  Tell  me.” 

“I  overheard  Floyd  say  that,  men  were  coming 
to-night  to  arrange  a meeting  for  my  father  at  a 
rendezvous  near  Ord.  Father  did  not  want  to  go. 
Floyd  taunted  him  with  a name.” 

‘‘What  name?”  queried  Duane. 

“It  was  Cheseldine.” 

“ Cheseldine ! My  God!  Miss  Longstreth,  why 
did  you  tell  me  that?” 

“What  difference  does  that  make?” 

“Your  father  and  Cheseldine  are  one  and  the 
same,”  whispered  Duane,  hoarsely. 

“I  gathered  so  much  myself,”  she  replied,  miser- 
ably. “But  Longstreth  is  father’s  real  name.” 

Duane  felt  so  stunned  he  could  not  speak  at  once. 
It  was  the  girl’s  part  in  this  tragedy  that  weakened 
him.  The  instant  she  betrayed  the  secret  Duane 
realized  perfectly  that  he  did  love  her.  The  emotion 
was  like  a great  flood. 

“Miss  Longstreth,  all  this  seems  so  unbeliev- 
able, he  whispered.  “Cheseldine  is  the  rustler 
chief  I’ve  come  out  here  to  get.  He’s  only  a name. 
Your  father  is  the  real  man.  I’ve.swom  to  get  him. 
'I’m  bound  by  more  than  law  or  oaths.  I can’t 
break  what  binds  me.  And  I must  disgrace  you — 
wreck  your  life!  Why,  Miss  Longstreth,  I believe  I 
—I  love  you.  It’s  all  came  in  a rush.  I’d  die  for 
y<£l  if  I could.  How  fatal — terrible — this  is ! How 
tmngs  work  out!” 

She  slipped  to  her  knees,  with  her  hands  on  his 

20  299 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


'‘You  won’t  kill  him?”  she  implored.  “If  you 
care  for  me — you  won’t  kill  him?” 

“No.  That  I promise  you.”  ^ 

With  a low  moan  she  dropped  her  head  upon  the 
bed. 

Duane  opened  the  door  and  stealthily  stole  out 
through  the  corridor  to  the  court. 

When  Duane  got  out  into  the  dark,  where  his  hot 
face  cooled  in  the  wind,  his  relief  equaled  his  other 
feelings. 

The  night  was  dark,  windy,  stormy,  yet  there  was 
no  rain.  Duane  hoped  as  soon  as  he  got  clear  of 
the  ranch  to  lose  something  of  the  pain  he  felt.  But 
long  after  he  had  tramped  out  into  the  open  there 
was  a lump  in  his  throat  and  an  ache  in  his  breast. 
All  his  thought  centered  around  Ray  Longstreth. 
What  a woman  she  had  turned  out  to  be ! He  seemed 
to  have  a vague,  hopeless  hope  that  there  might  be, 
there  must  be,  some  way  he  could  save  her. 


* CHAPTER  XXI 


BEFORE  going  to  sleep  that  night  Duane  had 
decided  to  go  to  Ord  and  try  to  find  the  ren- 
dezvous where  Longstreth  was  to  meet  his  men. 
These  men  Duane  wanted  even  more  than  their 
leader.  If  Longstreth,  or  Cheseldine,  was  the  brains 
of  that  gang,  Poggin  was  the  executor.  It  was  Pog- 
gin  who  needed  to  be  found  and  stopped.  Poggin 
and  his  right-hand  men ! Duane  experienced  a 
strange,  tigerish  thrill,  it  was  thought  of  Poggin 
more  than  thought  of  success  for  MacNelly’s  plan. 
Duane  felt  dubious  over  this  emotion. 

Next  day  he  set  out  for  Bradford.  He  was  glad 
to  get  away  from  Fairdale  for  a while.  But  the  hours 
and  the  miles  in  no  wise  changed  the  new  pain  in 
his  heart.  The  only  way  he  could  forget  Miss  Long- 
streth was  to  let  his  mind  dwell  upon  Poggin,  and 
even  this  was  not  always  effective. 

He  avoided  Sanderson,  and  at  the  end  of  a day 
and  a half  he  arrived  at  Bradford. 

The  night  of  the  day  before  he  reached  Bradford, 
No.  6,  the  mail  and  express  train  going  east,  was 
held  up  by  train-robbers,  the  Wells-Fargo  messenger 
killed  over  his  safe,  the  mail-clerk  wounded,  the  bags 
carried  away.  The  engine  of  No.  6 came  into  town 
minus  even  a tender,  and  engineer  and  fireman  told 
conflicting  stories.  A posse  of  railroad  men  and 

3°i 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


citizens,  led  by  a sheriff  Duane  suspected  was 
crooked,  was  made  up  before  the  engine  steamed 
back  to  pick  up  the  rest  of  the  train.  Duane  hadfihe 
sudden  inspiration  that  he  had  been  cudgeling  ,liis 
mind  to  find;  and,  acting  upon  it,  he  mounted  his 
horse  again  and  left  Bradford  unobserved.  As  fie 
rode  out  into  the  night,  over  a dark  trail  in  the 
direction  of  Ord,  he  uttered  a short,  grim,  sardonic 
laugh  at  the  hope  that  he  might  be  taken  for  a train- 
robber. 

He  rode  at  an  easy  trot  most  of  the  night,  and 
when  the  black  peak  of  Ord  Mountain  loomed  up 
against  the  stars  he  halted,  tied  his  horse,  and  slept 
until  dawn.  He  had  brought  a small  pack,  and  now 
he  took  his  time  cooking  breakfast.  When  the  sjm 
was  well  up  he  saddled  Bullet,  and,  leaving  the  trail 
where  his  tracks  showed  plain  in  the  ground,  he  put 
his  horse  to  the  rocks  and  brush.  He  selected  an 
exceedingly  rough,  roundabout,  and  difficult  course 
to  Ord,  hid  his  tracks  with  the  skill  of  a long-hunted 
fugitive,  and  arrived  there  with  his  horse  winded 
and  covered  with  lather.  It  added  considerable 
to  his  arrival  that  the  man  Duane  remembered^as 
Fletcher  and  several  others  saw  him  come  in  the 
back  way  through  the  lots  and  jump  a fence  into 
the  road. 

Duane  led  Bullet  up  to  the  porch  where  Fletcher 
stood  wiping  his  beard.  He  was  hatless,  vestless, 
and  evidently  had  just  enjoyed  a morning  drink. 

“Howdy,  Dodge,”  said  Fletcher,  laconically. 

Duane  replied,  and  the  other  man  returned  the 
greeting  with  interest. 

“Jim,  my  hoss  's  done  up.  I want  to  hide  him 
302 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


from  any  chance  tourists  as  might  happen  to  ride 
up  curious-like.” 

‘‘Haw!  haw!  haw!” 

Duane  gathered  encouragement  from  that  chorus 
of  coarse  laughter. 

“Wal,  if  them  tourists  ain’t  too  durned  snooky 
the.hoss  ’ll  be  safe  in  the  ’dobe  shack  back  of  Bill’s 
here.  Feed  thar,  too,  but  you’ll  liev  to  rustle  water.” 
Du  ane  led  Bullet  to  the  place  indicated,  had  care 
. of  his  welfare,  and  left  him  there.  Upon  returning 
to  the  tavern  porch  Duano  saw  the  group  of  men 
had  been  added  to  by  others,  some  of  whom  he  had 
seen  before.  Without  comment  Duane  walked  along 
the  fedge  of  the  road,  and  wherever  one  of  the  tracks 
of  lifs  horse  showed  he  carefully  obliterated  it.  This 
procedure  was  attentively  watched  by  Fletcher  and 
his  companions. 

“Wal,  Dodge,”  remarked  Fletcher,  as  Duane  re- 
turned, “thet’s  safer  ’n  prayin'  fer  rain.” 

Duane’s  reply  was  a remark  as  loquacious  as 
Fletcher’s,  to  the  effect  that- a long,  slow,  monotonous 
ride  was  conducive  to  thirst.  They  all  joined  him, 
unmistakably  friendly.  But  Knell  was  not  there,  and 
mo3t  assuredly  not  Poggin.  Fletcher  was  no  com- 
mon/ outlaw,  but,  whatever  his  ability,  it  probably 
fay  in  execution  of  orders.  Apparently  at  that  time 
these  men  had  nothing  to  do  but  drink  and  lounge 
around  the  tavern.  Evidently  they  were  poorly 
supplied  with  money,  though,  Duane  observed  they 
co\4d  borrow  a peso  occasionally  from  the  bartender. 
Dugme  set  out  to  make  himself  agreeable  and  suc- 
cee^fed.  There  was  card-playing  for  small  stakes, 
Mlemjests  of  coarse  nature,  much  bantering  among 

303 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


the  younger  fellows,  and  occasionally  a mild  quar- 
rel. All  morning  men  came  and  went,  until,  all  told, 
Duane  calculated  he  had  seen  at  least  fifty.  Toward 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon  a young  fellow  burst 
into  the  saloon  and  yelled  one  word: 

“Posse!” 

From  the  scramble  to  get  outdoors  Duane  judged 
that  word  and  the  ensuing  action  was  rare  in  Ord. 

“What  the  hell!”  muttered  Fletcher,  as  he  gazed 
down  the  road  at  a dark,  compact  bunch  of  horses 
and  riders.  “Fust  time  I ever  seen  thet  in  Ord! 
We’re  gettin’  popular  like  them  camps  out  of  Val- 
entine. Wish  Phil  was  here  or  Poggy.  Now  all 
you  gents  keep  quiet.  I’ll  do  the  talkin’.” 

The  posse  entered  the  town,  trotted  up  on  dusty 
horses,  and  halted  in  a bunch  before  the  tavern. 
The  party  consisted  of  about  twenty  men,  all  heavily 
armed,  and  evidently  in  charge  of  a clean-cut,  lean- 
limbed  cowboy.  Duane  experienced  considerable 
satisfaction  at  the  absence  of  the  sheriff  who  he  had 
understood  was  to  lead  the  posse.  Perhaps  he  was 
out  in  another  direction  with  a different  force. 

“Hello,  Jim  Fletcher,”  called  the  cowboy. 

“Howdy,”  replied  Fletcher. 

At  his  short,  dry  response  and  the  way  he  strode 
leisurely  out  before  the  posse  Duane  found  himself 
modifying  his  contempt  for  Fletcher.  The  outlaw! 
was  different  now. 

“Fletcher,  we’ve  tracked  a man  to  all  but  three 
miles  of  this  place.  Tracks  as  plain  as  the  nose  on 
your  face.  Found  his  camp.  Then  he  hit  into  the 
brush,  an’  we  lost  the  trail.  Didn'  t have  no  tracker 
with  us.  Think  he  went,  into  the  mountains.  But 

304 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

we  took  a chance  an’  rid  over  the  rest  of  the  way, 
seein’  Ord  was  so  close.  Anybody  come  in  here  late 
last  night  or  early  this  mornin’?” 

“Nope,”  replied  Fletcher. 

His  response  was  what  Duane  had  expected  from 
his  manner,  and  evidently  the  cowboy  took  it  as  a 
matter  of  course.  Fie  turned  to  the  others  of  the 
posse,  entering  into  a.  low  consultation.  Evidently 
there  was  difference  of  opinion,  if  not  real  dissension, 
in  that  posse. 

“Didn’t  I tell  ye  this  was  a wild-goose  chase, 
cornin’  way  out  here?”  protested  an  old  hawk-faced 
rancher.  “Them  hoss  tracks  we  follored  ain’t  like 
any  of  them  we  seen  at  the  water-tank  where  the 
train  was  held  up.” 

“I’m  not  so  sure  of  that,”  replied  the  leaden 
“Wal,  Guthrie,  I’ve  follored  tracks  all  my  life--” 
“But  you  couldn’t  keep  to  the  trail  this  feller 
made  in  the  brush.” 

“Gimme  time,  an’ I could.  Thet  takes  time.  An’ 
heah  you  go  hell-bent  fer  election ! But  it’s  a wrong 
lead  out  this  way.  If  you’re  right  this  road-agent, 
after  he  killed  his  pals,  would  hev  rid  back  right 
through  town.  An’  with  them  mail-bags!  Sup- 
posin’ they  was  greasers?  Some  greasers  has  sense, 
an’  when  it  comes  to  thievin’  they’re  shore  cute.’ 
“But  we  aint  got  any  reason  to  believe  this  rob- 
ber who  murdered  the  greasers  is  a greaser  himself. 
I tell  you  it  was  a slick  job  done  by  no  ordinary 
sneak.  Didn’t  you  hear  the  facts?  One  greaser 
hopped  the  engine  an’  covered  the  engineer  an' 
fireman.  Another  greaser  kept  flashin’  his  gun  out- 
side the  train.  The  big  man  who  shoved  back  the 

305 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


car-door  an’  did  the  killin' — he  was  the  real  gent,  _ 
an’  don’t  you  forget  it:” 

Some  of  the  posse  sided  with  the  cowboy  leader 
and  some  with  the  old  cattleman.  Finally  the  young 
leader  disgustedly  gathered  up  his  bridle. 

“Aw,  hell!  Thet  sheriff  shoved  you  off  this  trail. 
Mebbe  he  hed  reason!  Savvy  thet?  If  I hed  a 
bunch  of  cowboys  with  me — I tell  you  what — I’d 
take  a chance  anJ  clean  up  this  hole!” 

All  the  while  Jim  Fletcher  stood  quietly  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets. 

“Guthrie,  I’m  shore  treasurin’  up  your  friendly 
talk,”  he  said.  The  menace  was  in  the  tone,  not  the 
content  of  his  speech. 

“You  can — an’  be  damned  to  you,  Fletcher!” 
called  Guthrie,  as  the  Torses  started. 

Fletcher,  standing  out  alone  before  the  others  of 
his  clan,  watched  the  posse  out  of  sight. 

“Luck  fer  you-all  thet  Foggy  wasn’t  here,”  he 
said,  as  they  disappeared.  Then  with  a thought- 
ful mien  he  strode  up  on  the  porch  and  led  Duane 
away  from  the  others  into  the  bar-room.  When  he 
looked  into  Duan  s face  it  was  somehow  an  entirely 
changed  scrutiny. 

“Dodge,  where’ d you  hide  the  stuff?  I reckon 
I git  in  on  this  deal,  seein’  I staved  off  Guthrie.” 

Duane  played  his  part.  Here  was  his  opportu- 
nity, and  like  a tiger  after  prey  he  seized  it.  First 
he  coolly  eyed  the  outlaw  and  then  disclaimed  any 
knowledge  whatever  of  the  train-robbery  other  than 
Fletcher  had  heard  himself.  Then  at  Fletcher’s 
persistence  and  admiration  and  increasing  show  of 
friendliness  he  laughed  occasionally  and  allowed 

306 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

himself  to  swell  with  pride,  though  still  denying. 
Next  he  feigned  a lack  of  consistent  will-power  and 
seemed  to  be  wavering  tinder  Fletcher's  persuasion 
and  grew  silent,  then  surly.  Fletcher,  evidently  sure 
of  ultimate  victory,  desisted  for  the  time  being; 
however,  in  his  solicitous  regard  and  close  com 
panionship  for  the  rest  of  that  day  he  betrayed  the 
bent  of  his  mind. 

Later,  when  Duane  started  up  armouncing  his  in- 
tention to  get  his  horse  and  make  for  camp  out  in 
the  brush,  Fletcher  seemed  grievously  offended. 

“Why  don’t  you  stay  with  me?  I’ve  got  a com- 
fortable ’dobe  over  here.  Didn’t  I stick  by  you  when 
Guthrie  an’  his  bunch  come  up?  Supposin’  I hedn’t 
showed  down  a cold  hand  to  him  ? You’d  be  swingin’ 
somewheres  now.  I tell  you.  Dodge,  it  ain’t  square.” 
“I’ll  square  it.  I pay  my  debts,”  replied  Duane. 
“But  I can’t  put  up  here  all  night.  If  I belonged 
to  the  gang  it  ’d  be  different.” 

“What  gang?”  asked  Fletcher,  bluntly „ 

“Why,  Cheseldine’s.” 

Fletcher’s  beard  nodded  as  his  jaw  dropped. 
Duane  laughed.  “I  run  into  him  the  other  day, 
Knowed  him  on  sight.  Sure,  he’s  the  king-pin 
rustler.  When  he  seen  me  an’  asked  me  what  rea- 
son I had  for  bein’  on  earth  or  some  such  like-why, 
I iap  an’  told  him.” 

Fletcher  appeared  staggered. 

“Who  in  all-fired  hell  air  you  talkin’  about?” 
“Didn’t  I tell  you  once?  Chesddine.  He  calls 
himself  Longstreth  over  there.” 

All  of  Fletcher’s  face  not  covered  by  hair  turned 
a dirty  white. 

307 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


"‘Cheseldine — Longstreth!”  he  whispered,  hoarse- 
ly. “Gord  Almighty!  You  braced  the — ” Then 
a remarkable  transformation  came  over  the  outlaw. 
He  gulped;  he  straightened  his  face;  he  controlled 
his  agitation.  But  he  could  not  send  the  healthy 
brown  back  to  his  face.  Duane,  watching  this  rude 
man,  marveled  at  the  change  in  him,  the  sudden 
checking  movement,  the  proof  of  a wonderful  fear 
and  loyalty.  It  all  meant  Cheseldine,  a master  of 
men! 

“Who  air  you?”  queried  Fletcher,  in  a queer, 
strained  voice. 

“You  gave  me  a handle,  didn’t  you?  Dodge. 
Thet’s  as  good  as  any.  Shore  it  hits  me  hard. 
Jim,  I've  been  pretty  lonely  for  years,  an’  I’m 
gettin’  in  need  of  pals.  Think  it  over,  will  you? 
See  you  manana.” 

The  outlaw  watched  Duane  go  off  after  his  horse, 
watched  him  as  he  returned  to  the  tavern,  watched 
him  ride  out  into  the  darkness — all  without  a word. 

Duane  left  the  town,  threaded  a quiet  passage 
through  cactus  and  mesquite  to  a spot  he  had 
marked  before,  and  made  ready  for  the  night.  His 
mind  was  so  full  that  he  found  sleep  aloof.  Luck 
at  last  was  playing  his  game.  He  sensed  the  first 
slow  heave  of  a mighty  crisis.  The  end,  always 
haunting,  had  to  be  sternly  blotted  from  thought. 
It  was  the  approach  that  needed  all  his  mind. 

He  passed  the  night  there,  and  late  in  the  morning, 
after  watching  trail  and  road  from  a ridge,  he  t re- 
turned to  Ord.  If  Jim  Fletcher  tried  to  disguise 
his  surprise  the  effort  was  a failure.  Certainly  he 
had  not  expected  to  see  Duane  again.  Duane  allowed 

■*o8 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


himself  a little  freedom  with  Fletcher,  an  attitude 
hitherto  lacking. 

That  afternoon  a horseman  rode  in  from  Brad- 
ford, an  outlaw  evidently  well  known  and  liked  by 
his  fellows,  and  Duane  heard  him  say,  before  he  could 
possibly  have  been  told  the  train-robber  was  in  Ord, 
that  the  loss  of  money  in  the  holdup  was  slight. 
Like  a flash  Duane  saw  the  luck  of  this  report.  He 
pretended  not  to  have  heard. 

In  the  early  twilight  at  an.  opportune  moment 
he  called  Fletcher  to  him,  and,  linking  his  arm  within 
the  outlaw’s,  he  drew  him  off  in  a stroll  to  a log 
bridge  spanning  a little  gully.  Here  after  gazing 
around,  he  took  out  a roll  of  bills,  spread  it  out,  split 
it  equally,  and  without  a word  handed  one  half  to 
Fletcher.  With  clumsy  fingers  Fletcher  ran  through 
the  roll. 

“Five  hundred!”  he  exclaimed.  “Dodge,  thet’s 
damn 'handsome  of  you,  considerin’  the  job  wasn’t — 

“Considerin’  nothin’,”  interrupted  Duane.  “I’m 
makin’  no  reference  to  a job  here  or  there.  You  did 
me  a good  turn.  I split  my  pile.  If  thet  doesn’t 
make  us  pards,  good  turns  an’  money  ain’t  no  use 
in  this  country.” 

Fletcher  was  won. 

The  two  men  spent  much  time  together.  Duane 
made  up  a short  fictitious  history  about  himself 
that  satisfied  the  outlaw,  only  it  drew  forth  a laugh- 
ing jest  upon  Duane’s  modesty.  For  Fletcher  did 
not  hide  his  belief  that  this  new  partner  was  a man 
of  achievements.  Knell  and  Poggin,  and  then  Ches- 
eldine  himself,  would  be  persuaded  of  this  fact,  so 
Fletcher  boasted.  He  had  influence.  He  would 

309 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

use  it.  He  thought  he  pulled  a stroke  with  Knell. 
But  nobody  on  earth,  not  even  the  boss,  had  any 
influence  on  Poggin.  Poggin  was  concentrated  ice 
part  of  the  time;  aM  the  rest  he  was  bursting  hell. 
But  Poggin  loved  a horse.  Pie  never  loved  any- 
thing else.  He  could  be  won  with  that  black  horse 
Bullet.  Cheseldine  was  already  won  by  Duane’s 
monumental  nerve;  otherwise  he  would  have  killed 
Duane. 

Little  by  little  the  next  few  days  Duane  learned 
the  points  he  longed  to  know ; and  how  indelibly 
they  etched  themselves  in  his  memory ! Cheseldine’s 
hiding-place  was  on  the  far  slope  of  Mount  Ord,  in 
a deep,  high-walled  valley.  He  always  went  there 
just  before  a contemplated  job,  where  he  met  and 
planned  with  his  lieutenants.  Then  while  they  ex- 
ecuted he  basked  in  the  sunshine  before  one  or  an- 
other of  the  public  places  he  owned.  He  wras  there 
in  the  Ord  den  now,  getting  ready  to  plan  the  big- 
gest job  ^et.  It  was  a bank-robbery;  but  where, 
Fletcher  had  not  as  yet  been  advised. 

Then  when  Duane  had  pumped  the  now  amenable 
outlaw  of  all  details  pertaining  to  the  present  he 
gathered  data  and  facts  and  places  covering  a period 
of  ten  years  Fletcher  had  been  with  Cheseldine. 
And  herewith  was  unfolded  a history  so  dark  in  its 
bloody  regime,  so  incredible  in  its  brazen  daring,  so 
appalling  in  its  proof  of  the  outlaw’s  sweep  and 
grasp  of  the  country  from  Pecos  to  Rio  Grande,  that 
Duane  was  stunned.  Compared  to  this  Cheseldine 
of  the  Big  Bend,  to  this  rancher,  stock-buyer,  cattle- 
speculator,  property-holder,  all  the  outlaws  Duane 
had  ever  known  sank  into  insignificance.  The  power 

31° 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


of  tlie  man  stunned  Duane;  the  strange  fidelity- 
given  him  stunned  Duane;  the  intricate  inside  work- 
ing of  his  great  system  was  equally  stunning.  But 
when  Duane  recovered  from  that  the  old  terrible 
passion  to  kill  consumed  him,  and  ii  raged  fiercely 
and  it  could  not  be  checked.  If  that  red-handed. 
Poggin,  if  that  cold-eyed,  dead-faced  Knell  had 
only  been  at  Ord!  But  they  were  not,  and  Duane 
with  help  of  time  got  what  he  hoped  was  the  upper 
hand  of  himself. 


CHAPTER  XXII 


AGAIN  inaction  and  suspense  dragged  at  Duane’s 
spirit.  Like  a leashed  hound  with  a keen  scent 
in  his  face  Duane  wanted  to  leap  forth  when  he  was 
bound.  He  almost  fretted.  Something  called  to 
him  over  the  bold,  wild  brow  of  Mount  Ord.  But 
while  Fletcher  stayed  in  Ord  waiting  for  Knell  and 
Poggin,  or  for  orders,  Duane  knew  his  game  was 
again  a waiting  one. 

But  one  day  there  were  signs  of  the  long  quiet  of 
Ord  being  broken.  A messenger  strange  to  Duane 
rode  in  on  a secret  mission  that  had  to  do  with 
Fletcher.  When  he  went  away  Fletcher  became 
addicted  to  thoughtful  moods  and  lonely  walks. 
He  seldom  drank,  and  this  in  itself  was  a striking 
contrast  to  former  behavior.  The  messenger  came 
again.  Whatever  communication  he  brought,  it  had 
a remarkable  effect  upon  the  outlaw.  Duane  was 
present  in  the  tavern  when  the  fellow  arrived,  saw 
the  few  words  whispered,  but  did  not  hear  them. 
Fletcher  turned  white  with  anger  or  fear,  perhaps 
both,  and  he  cursed  like  a madman.  The  messen- 
ger, a lean,  dark-faced,  hard-riding  fellow  reminding 
Duane  of  the  cowboy  Guthrie,  left  the  tavern  with- 
out even  a drink  and  rode  away  off  to  the  west. 
This  west  mystified  and  fascinated  Duane  as  much 
as  the  south  beyond  Mount  Ord.  Where  were 

312 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Knell  and  Poggin?  Apparently  they  were  not  at 
present  with  the  leader  on  the  mountain.  Alter 
the  messenger  left  Fletcher  grew  silent  and  surly. 
He  had  presented  a variety  of  moods  to  Duane’s 
observation,  and  this  latest  one  was  provocative  of 
thought.  Fletcher  was  dangerous.  L became  clear 
now  that  the  other  outlaws  of  the  camp  feared  him, 
kept  out  of  his  way.  Duane  let  him  alone,  yet  close- 
ly watched  him. 

Perhaps  an  hour  after  the  messenger  had  left,  not 
longer,  Fletcher  manifestly  arrived  at  s-  me  decision, 
and  he  called  for  his  horse.  Then  he  went  to  his 
shack  and  returned.  To  Duane  the  outlaw  looked  in 
shape  both  to  ride  and  to  fight.  He  gave  orders  for 
the  men  in  camp  to  keep  close  until  he  returned. 
Then  he  mounted. 

“Come  here,  Dodge,”  he  called. 

Duane  went  up  and  laid  a hand  on  the  pommel 
of  the  saddle.  Fletcher  walked  his  horse,  with 
Duane  beside  him,  till  they  reached  the  log  bridge, 
when  he  halted. 

“Dodge,  I’m  in  bad  with  Knell,”  he  said.  “An’ 
it  ’pears  I’m  the  cause  of  friction  between  Knell  an’ 
Poggy.  Knell  never  had  any  use  fer  me,  but  Poggy’s 
been  square,  if  not  friendly.  The  boss  has  a big  deal 
on,  an’  here  it’s  been  held  up  because  of  this  scrap. 
He’s  waitin’  over  there  on  the  mountain  to  give 
orders  to  Knell  or  Poggy,  an'  neither  one’s  showin’ 
up.  I’ve  got  to  stand  in  the  breach,  an’  I ain’t  en*- 
joyin’  the  prospects.” 

“What’s  the  trouble  about,  Jim?”  asked  Duane. 

“Reckon  it’s  a little  about  you,  Dodge,”  said 
Fletcher,  dryly.  “Knell  hadn’t  any  use  fer  you  thet 

313 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

day.  He  ain’t  got  no  use  fer  a man  onless  he  can 
rule  him.  Some  of  the  boys  here  hev  blabbed  be- 
fore I edged  in  with  my  say,  an’  there’s  hell  to  pay. 
Knell  claims  to  know  somethin’  about  you  that  ’ll 
make  both  the  boss  an’  Peggy  sick  when  he  springs 
It.  But  he’s  keepin’  quiet.  Hard  man  to  figger, 
fchet  Knell.  Reckon  you’d  better  go  back  to  Brad- 
ford fer  a day  or  so,  then  camp  out  near  here  till  I 
come  back.” 

“Why?” 

“Wal,  because  there  ain’t  any  use  fer  you  to  git 
in  bad,  too.  '.the  gang  will  ride  over  here  any  day. 
If  they’re  friendly  I’ll  light  a fire  on  the  hill  there, 
say  three  nights  from  tonight.  If  you  don’t  see  it 
thet  night  you  hit  the  trail.  I’ll  do  what  I can, 
Jim  Fletcher  sticks  to  his  pals.  So  long,  Dodge.” 
Then  he  rode  array. 

He  left  Duane  in  a quandary.  This  news  was 
black.  Things  had  been  worldng  out  so  well.  Here 
was  a setback.  At  the  moment  Duane  did  not 
know  which  way  to  turn,  but  certainly  he  had  no  idea 
of  going  back  to  Bradford.  Friction  between  .the 
two  great  lieutenants  of  Cheseldine!  Open  hostility 
between  one  of  them  and  another  of  the  chief’s  right- 
hand  men!  Among  outlaws  that  sort  of  thing  was 
deadly  serious.  Generally  such  matters  were  set- 
tled with  guns.  Duane  gathered  encouragement 
even  from  disaster.  Perhaps  the  disintegration  of 
Cheseldine’s  great  band  had  already  begun.  But 
what  did  Ivnell  know?  Duane  did  not  circle  around 
the  idea  with  doubts  and  hopes;  if  Knell  knew  any- 
thing it  was  that  this  stranger  in  Ord,  this  new 
partner  of  Fletcher’s,  was  no  less  than  Buck  Duane, 

3*4 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Well,  it  was  about  time,  thought  Duane,  that  he 
made  use  of  his  name  if  it  were  to  help  him  at  all. 
That  name  had  been  MacNelly’s  hope.  He  had 
anchored  all  his  scheme  to  Duane’s  fame.  Duane 
was  tempted  to  ride  off  after  Fletcher  and  stay  with 
him.  This,  however,  would  hardly  be  fair  to  an  out- 
law who  had  been  fair  to  him.  Duane  concluded  to 
await  developments  and  when  the  gang  rode  in  to 
Ord,  probably  from  their  various  hiding-places,  he 
would  be  there  ready  to  be  denounced  by  Knell. 
Duane  could  not  see  any  other  culmination  cf  this 
series  of  events  than  a meeting  between  Knell  and 
himself.  If  that  terminated  fatally  for  Knell  there 
was  all  probability  of  Duane’s  being  in  no  worse  sit- 
uation than  he  was  now.  If  Poggin  took  up  the 
quarrel!  Here  Duane  accused  himself  again — tried 
in  vain  to  revolt  from  a judgment  that  he  was  only 
reasoning  out  excuses  to  meet  these  outlaws. 

Meanwhile,  instead  of  waiting,  why  not  hunt  up 
Cheseldine  in  his  mountain  retreat?  The  thought 
no  sooner  struck  Duane  than  he  was  hurrying  for  his 
horse. 

He  left  Ord,  ostensibly  toward  Bradford,  but,  once 
out  of  sight,  he  turned  off  the  road,  circled  through 
the  brush,  and  several  miles  south  of  town  he  struck 
a narrow  grass-grown  trail  that  Fletcher  had  told 
him  led  to  Cheseldine’s  camp.  The  horse  tracks 
along  this  trail  were  not  less  than  a week  old,  and 
very  likely  much  more.  It  -wound  between  low, 
brush-covered  foothills,  through  arroyos  and  gullies 
lined  with  mesquite,  cottonwood,  and  scrub-oak. 

In  an  hour  Duane  struck  the  slope  of  Mount  Ord, 
aad  as  he  climbed  he  got  a view  of  the  rolling,  black- 

,H5 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


spotted  country,  partly  desert,  partly  fertile,  with 
long,  bright  lines  of  dry  stream-beds  winding  away 
to  grow  dim  in  the  distance.  He  got  among  broken 
rocks  and  cliffs,  and  here  the  open,  downward-rolling 
land  disappeared,  and  he  was  hard  put  to  it  to  find 
the  trail.  He  lost  it  repeatedly  and  made  slow 
progress.  Finally  he  climbed  into  a region  of  all 
rock  benches,  rough  here,  smooth  there,  with  only 
an  occasional  scratch  of  iron  horseshoe  to  guide 
him.  Many  times  he  had  to  go  ahead  and  then 
work  to  right  or  left  till  he  found  his  way  again. 
It  was  slow  work;  it  took  all  day;  and  night  found 
him  half-way  up  the  mountain.  He  halted  at  a 
little  side-canon  with  grass  and  water,  and  here  he 
made  camp.  The  night  was  clear  and  cool  at  that 
height,  with  a dark-blue  sky  and  a streak  of  stars 
blinking  across.  With  this  day  of  action  behind 
him  he  felt  better  satisfied  than  he  had  been  for 
some  time.  Here,  on  this  venture,  he  was  answering 
to  a call  that  had  sc  often  directed  his  movements, 
perhaps  his  life,  and  it  was  one  that  logic  or  intelli- 
gence coulu  take  little  stock  of.  And  on  this  night, 
lonely  like  the  ones  he  used  to  spend  in  the  Nueces 
gorge,  and  memorable  of  them  because  of  a likeness 
to  that  old  hiding-place,  he  felt  the  pressing  return 
of  old  haunting  things — the  past  so  long  ago,  wild 
flights,  dead  faces — and  the  places  of  these  were 
taken  by  one  quiveringly  alive,  white,  tragic,  with 
its  dark,  intent,  speaking  eyes — Ray  Longstreth’s. 

■ That  last  memory  he  yielded  to  until  he  slept. 

In  the  morning,  satisfied  that  he  had  left  still 
fewer  tracks  than  he  had  followed  up  this  trail,  he 
led  his  horse  up  to  the  head  of  the  canon,  there  a 

316 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


narrow  crack  in  low  cliffs,  and  with  branches  of 
cedar  fenced  him  in.  Then  he  went  back  and  took 
up  the  trail  on  foot. 

Without  the  horse  he  made  better  time  and  climbed 
through  deep  clefts,  wide  canons,  over  ridges,  up 
shelving  slopes,  along  precipices — a long,  hard  climb 
— till  he  reached  what  he  concluded  was  a divide. 
Going  down  was  easier,  though  the  farther  he  fol- 
lowed this  dim  and  winding  trail  the  wider  the 
broken  battlements  of  rock.  Above  him  he  saw 
the  black  fringe  of  pinon  and  pine,  and  above  that 
the  bold  peak,  bare,  yellow,  like  a desert  butte. 
Once,  through  a wide  gateway  between  great  es- 
carpments, he  saw  the  lower  country  beyond  the 
range,  and  beyond  this,  vast  and  clear  as  it  lay  in 
his  sight,  was  the  great  river  that  made  the  Big 
Bend.  He  went  down  and  down,  wondering  how 
a horse  could  follow  that  broken  trail,  believing 
there  must  be  another  better  one  somewhere  into 
Cheseldine’s  hiding-place. 

He  rounded  a jutting  corner,  where  view  had  been 
shut  off,  and  presently  came  out  upon  the  rim  of  a 
high  wall.  Beneath,  like  a green  gulf  seen  through 
blue  haze,  lay  an  amphitheater  walled  in  on  the  two 
sides  he  could  see.  It  lay  perhaps  a thousand  feet 
below  him;  and,  plain  as  all  the  other  features  of 
that  wild  environment,  there  shone  out  a big  red 
stone  or  adobe  cabin,  white  water  shining  away 
between  great  borders,  and  horses  and  cattle  dot- 
ting the  levels.  It  was  a peaceful,  beautiful  scene. 
Duane  could  not  help  grinding  his  teeth  at  the 
thought  of  rustlers  living  there  in  quiet  and  ease. 

Duane  worked  half-way  down  to  the  level,  and, 
3i7 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


well  hidden  in  a niche,  he  settled  himself  to  watch 
both  trail  and  valley.  He  made  note  of  the  position 
of  the  sun  and  saw  that  if  anything  developed  or 
if  he  decided  to  descend  any  farther  there  was  small 
likelihood  of  his  getting  back  to  his  camp  before 
dark.  To  try  that  after  nightfall  he  imagined  would 
be  vain  effort. 

Then  he  bent  his  keen  eyes  downward.  The 
cabin  appeared  to  be  a crude  structure.  Though 
large  in  size,  it  had,  of  course,  been  built  by  outlaws. 

There  was  no  garden,  no  cultivated  field,  no  corral. 
Excepting  for  the  rude  pile  of  stones  and  logs  plas- 
tered together  with  mud,  the  valley  was  as  wild,  prob- 
ably, as  on  the  day  of  discovery.  Duane  seemed  to 
have  been  watching  for  a long  time  before  he  saw 
any  sign  of  man,  and  this  one  apparently  went  to 
the  stream  for  water  and  returned  to  the  cabin. 

The  sun  went  down  behind  the  wall,  and  shadows 
were  born  in  the  darker  places  of  the  valley.  Duane 
began  to  want  to  get  closer  to  that  cabin.  What 
had  he  taken  this  arduous  climb  for?  He  held 
back,  however,  trying  to  evolve  further  plans. 

"While  he  was  pondering  the  shadows  quickly 
gathered  and  darkened.  If  he  was  to  go  back  to 
i .lamp  he  must  set  out  at  once.  Still  he  lingered. 
And  suddenly  his  wide-roving  eye  caught  sight  of 
two  horsemen  riding  up  the  valley.  They  must 
have  entered  at  a point  below,  round  the  huge  abut- 
ment of  rock,  beyond  Duane’s  range  of  sight.  Their 
horses  were  tired  and  stopped  at  the  stream  for  a 
long  drink. 

Duane  left  his  porch,  took  to  the  steep  trail,  and 
descended  as  fast  as  he  could  without  making  noise. 

318 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


It  did  not  take  him  long  to  reach  the  valley  floor. 
It  was  almost  level,  with  deep  grass,  and  here  and 
there  clumps  of  bushes.  Twilight  was  already  thick 
down  there.  Duane  marked  the  location  of  the  trail, 
and  then  began  to  slip  like  a shadow  through  the 
grass  and  from  bush  to  bush.  He  saw  a bright  light 
before  he  made  out  the  dark  outline  of  the  cabin. 
Then  he  heard  voices,  a merry  whistle,  a coarse 
song,  and  the  clink  of  iron  cooking-utensils.  He 
smelled  fragrant  wood-smoke.  He  saw  moving  dark 
figures  cross  the  light.  Evidently  there  was  a wide 
door,  or  else  the  fire  was  out  in  the  open. 

Duane  swerved  to  the  left,  out  of  direct  line  with 
the  light,  and  thus  was  able  to  see  better.  Then  he 
advanced  noiselessly  but  swiftly  toward  the  back 
of  the  house.  There  were  trees  close  to  the  wall. 
He  would  make  no  noise,  and  he  could  scarcely  be 
seen — if  only  there  was  no  watch-dog!  But  all  his 
outlaw  days  he  had  taken  risks  with  only  his  use- 
less life  at  stake;  now,  with  that  changed,  he  ad- 
vanced stealthy  and  bold  as  an  Indian.  He  reached 
the  cover  of  the  trees,  knew  he  was  hidden  in  their 
shadows,  for  at  few  paces’  distance  he  had  been  able 
to  see  only  their  tops.  From  there  he  slipped  up 
to  the  house  and  felt  along  the  wall  with  his  hands. 

He  came  to  a little  window  where  light  shone 
through.  He  peeped  in.  He  saw  a room  shrouded 
in  shadows,  a lamp  turned  low,  a table,  chairs.  He 
saw  an  open  door,  with  bright  flare  beyond,  but 
could  not  see  the  fire.  Voices  came  indistinctly. 
Without  hesitation  Duane  stole  farther  along — all 
the  way  to  the  end  of  the  cabin.  Peeping  round,  he 
saw  only  the  flare  of  light  on  bare  ground.  Retrac- 

319 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


mg  his  cautious  steps,  he  paused  at  the  crack  again, 
saw  that  no  man  was  in  the  room,  and  then  he  went 
on  round  that  end  of  the  cabin.  Fortune  favored 
him.  There  were  bushes,  an  otd  shed,  a wood-pile, 
all  the  cover  he  needed  at  that  comer.  He  did  not 
even  need  to  crawl. 

Before  he  peered  between  the  rough  comer  of 
wall  and  the  bush  growing  close  to  it  Duane  paused 
a moment.  This  excitement  was  different  from  that 
he  had  always  felt  when  pursued.  It  had  no  bitter- 
ness, no  pain,  no  dread.  There  was  as  much  danger 
here,  perhaps  more,  yet  it  was  not  the  same.  Then 
he  looked. 

He  saw  a bright  fire,  a red-faced  man  bending 
over  it,  whistling,  while  he  handled  a steaming  pot. 
Over  him  was  a roofed  shed  built  against  the  wall, 
with  two  open  sides  and  two  supporting  posts. 
Duane’s  second  glance,  not  so  blinded  by  the  sud- 
den bright  light,  made  out  other  men,  three  in  the 
shadow,  two  in  the  flare,  but  with  backs  to  him. 

“It’s  a smoother  trail  by  long  odds,  but  ain’t  so 
short  as  this  one  right  over  the  mountain,”  one  out- 
law was  saying.  « 

“What’s  eatin’  you,  Panhandle?”  ejaculated  an- 
other. “Blossom  an’  me  rode  from  Faraway  Springs, 
vsAere  Poggin  is  with  some  of  the  gang.” 

“Excuse  me,  Phil.  Shore  I didn’t  see  you  come 
in,  an’  Boldt  never  said  nothin’.” 

“It  took  you  a long  time  to  get  here,  but  I guess 
that’s  just  as  well,”  spoke  up  a smooth,  suave  voice 
with  a ring  in  it. 

Longstreth’s  voice — Cheseldine’s  voice! 

Here  they  were — Cheseldine,  Phil  Knell,  Blossom 

f>.20 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Kane,  Panhandle  Smith,  Boldt  — how  well  Duane 
remembered  the  names! — all  here,  the  big  men  of 
Cheseldiae’s  gang,  except  the  biggest  — Poggin. 
Duane  had  holed  them,  and  his  sensations  of  the 
moment  deadened  sight  and  sound  of  what  was  be- 
fore him.  He  sank  down,  controlled  himself,  si- 
lenced a mounting  exultation,  then  from  a less- 
strained  position  he  peered  forth  again. 

The  outlaws  were  waiting  for  supper.  Their  con- 
versation might  have  been  that  of  cowboys  in  camp, 
ranchers  at  a round-up.  Duane  .ened  with  eager 
ears,  waiting  for  the  business  talk  ,ut  he  felt  would 
come.  All  the  time  be  watched  with  the  eyes  of  a 
wolf  upon  its  quarry.  Blossom  Kane  was  the  lean- 
limbed  messenger  who  had  so  angered  Fletcher. 
Boldt  was  a giant  in  stature,  dark,  bearded,  silent. 
Panhandle  Smith  was  the  red -faced  cook,  merry, 
profane,  a short,  bow-legged  man  resembling  man}?' 
rustlers  Duane  had  known,  particularly  Luke 
Stevens.  And  Knell,  who  sat  there,  tall,  slim,  like 
a boy  in  build,  like  a boy  in  years,  with  his  pale, 
smooth,  expressionless  face  and  his  cold,  gray  eyes. 
And  Longstreth,  who  leaned  against  the  wall,  hand- 
some, with  his  dark  face  and  beard  like  an  aristocrat, 
resembled  many  a rich  Louisiana  planter  Duane  had 
met.  The  sixth  man  sat  so  much  in  the  shadow  that 
he  could  not  be  plainly  discerned,  and,  though  ad- 
dressed, his  name  was  not  mentioned. 

Panhandle  Smith  carried  pots  and  pans  into  the 
cabin,  and  cheerfully  called  out:  “If  you  gents  air 
hungry  fer  grub,  don’t  look  fer  me  to  feed  you  with 
a spoon.” 

The  outlaws  piled  inside,  made  a great  bustle  and 
321 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


olatter  as  they  sat  to  their  meal.  Like  hungry  men, 
they  talked  little. 

Duane  waited  there  awhile,  then  guardedly  got 
up  and  crept  round  to  the  other  side  of  the  cabin. 
After  he  became  used  to  the  dark  again  he  ventured 
to  steal  along  the  wall  to  the  window  and  peeped 
in.  The  outlaws  were  in  the  first  room  and  could 
not  be  seen. 

Duane  waited.  The  moments  dragged  endlessly. 
His  heart  pounded.  Longstreth  entered,  turned  up 
the  light,  and,  taking  a box  of  cigars  from  the  table, 
he  carried  it  our 

“Here,  you  fellows,  go  outside  and  smoke,”  he 
said.  “Knell,  come  on  in  now.  Let’s  get  it  over.” 

He  returned,  sat  down,  and  lighted  a cigar  for  him- 
self. He  put  his  booted  feet  on  the  table. 

Duane  saw  that  the  room  was  comfortably,  even 
luxuriously  furnished.  There  must  have  been  a 
good  trail,  he  thought,  else  how  could  all  that  stuff 
have  been  packed  in  there.  Most  assuredly  it  could 
not  have  come  over  the  trail  he  had  traveled.  Pres- 
ently he  heard  the  men  go  outside,  and  their  voices 
became  indistinct.  Then  Knell  came  in  and  seated 
himself  without  any  of  his  chief’s  ease.  lie  seemed 
preoccupied  and,  as  always,  cold. 

“What’s  wrong,  Knell?  Why  didn’t  you  get  here 
sooner?”  queried  Longstreth. 

“Poggin,  damn  him!  We’re  on  the  outs  again.” 

“mat  for?” 

“Aw,  he  needn’t  have  got  sore.  He’s  breakin’  a 
new  hoss  over  there  at  Faraway,  an’  you  know  him 
where  a hoss ’s  concerned.  That  kept  him,  I reckon, 
more  than  anythin'.” 

S3  a 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“What  else?  Get  it  out  of  your  system  so  we  can 
go  on  to  the  new  job." 

“Well,  it  begins  back  a ways.  I don’t  know  how 
long  ago — weeks — a stranger  rode  into  Ord  an’  got 
down  easy-like  as  if  he  owned  the  place.  He  seemed 
familiar  to  me.  But  I wasn’t  sure.  We  looked  him 
over,  an’  I left,  tryin’  to  place  him  in  my  mind." 

“What ’d  he  look  like?” 

“Rangy,powerful  man,  white  hair  over  his  temples, 
still,  hard  face,  eyes  like  knives.  The  way  he  packed 
his  guns,  the  way  he  walked  an’  stood  an’  swung 
Ms  right  hand  showed  me  what  he  was.  You  can’t 
fool  me  on  the  gun- sharp.  An’  he  had  a grand 
horse,  a big  black.” 

“I’ve  met  your  man,”  said  Longstreth. 

“No!”  exclaimed  Knell.  It  was  wonderful  to 
hear  surprise  expressed  by  this  man  that  did  not  in 
the  least  show  it  in  his  strange  physiognomy. 
Knell  laughed  a short,  grim,  hollow  laugh.  “Boss;, 
this  here  big  gent  drifts  into  Ord  again  an’  makes 
up  to  Jim  Fletcher.  Jim,  you  know,  is  easy  led. 
He  likes  men.  An’  when  a posse  come  along  trailin’ 
a blind  lead,  huntin’  the  wrong  way  for  the  man 
who  held  up  No.  6,  why,  Jim — he  up  an’  takes 
this  stranger  to  be  the  fly  road-agent  an’  cottons 
to  him.  Got  money  out  of  him  sure.  An’  that’s 
what  stumps  me  more.  What’s  this  man’s  game? 
I happen  to  know,  buss,  that  he  couldn’t  have  held 
up  No.  6.” 

“How  do  you  know?”  demanded  Longstreth. 

“Because  I did  the  job  myself.” 

A dark  and  stormy  passion  clouded  the  chief’s 

face. 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

“Damn  you,  Knell!  You’re  incorrigible.  You’re 
unreliable.  Another  break  like  that  queers  you 
with  me.  Did  you  tell  Poggin?” 

“Yes.  That’s  one  reason  we  fell  out.  He  raved. 
I thought  he  was  goin’  to  kill  me.” 

“Why  did  you  tackle  such  a risky  job  without 
help  or  plan?” 

“It  offered,  that’s  all.  An’  it  was  easy.  But  it 
was  a mistake.  I got  the  country  an’  the  railroad 
hollerin’  for  nothin’.  I just  couldn’t  help  it.  You 
know  what  idleness  means  to  one  of  us.  You  know 
also  that  this  very  life  breeds  fatality.  It’s  wrong — 
that’s  why.  I was  born  of  good  parents,  an’  I know 
what’s  right.  We’re  wrong,  an’  we  can’t  beat  the 
end,  that’s  all.  An’  for  my  part  I don’t  care  a damn 
when  that  comes.” 

“Fine  wise  talk  from  you,  Knell,”  said  Long- 
streth,  scornfully.  “Go  on  with  your  story.” 

“As  I said,  Jim  cottons  to  the  pretender,  an’  they 
get  chummy.  They’re  together  all  the  time.  You 
can  gamble  Jim  told  all  he  knew  an’  then  some. 
A little  liquor  loosens  his  tongue.  Several  of  the 
boys  rode  over  from  Ord,  an’  one  of  them  went  to 
Poggin  an’  says  Jim  Fletcher  has  a new  man  for 
the  gang.  Poggin,  you  know,  is  always  ready  for 
any  new  man.  He  says  if  one  doesn’t  turn  out  good 
he  can  be  shut  off  easy.  He  rather  liked  the  way 
this  new  pard  of  Jim’s  was  boosted.  Jim  an’  Poggin 
always  hit  it  up  together.  So  until  I got  on  the 
deal  Jim’s  pard  was  already  in  the  gang,  without 
Poggin  or  you  ever  seein’  him.  Then  I got  to  figurin’ 
hard.  Just  where  had  I ever  seen  that  chap?  As 
it  turned  out,  I never  had  seen  him,  which  accounts 

324 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


for  my  bein’  doubtful.  I’d  never  forget  any  man 
I’d  seen.  I dug  up  a lot  of  old  papers  from  my  kit 
an’  went  over  them.  Letters,  pictures,  clippin’s,  an’ 
all  that.  I guess  I had  a pretty  good  notion  what  I 
was  lookin’  for  an’  who  I wanted  to  make  sure  of. 
At  last  I found  it.  An’  I knew  my  man.  But  1 
didn’t  spring  it  on  Poggin.  Oh  no!  I want  to  have 
some  fun  with  him  when  the  time  comes.  He’ll  be 
wilder  than  a trapped  wolf.  I sent  Blossom  over  to 
Ord  to  get  word  from  Jim,  an’  when  he  verified  all 
this  talk  I sent  Blossom  again  with  a message  cal- 
culated to  make  Jim  hump.  Poggin  got  sore,  said 
he’d  wait  for  Jim,  an’  I could  come  over  here  to  see 
you  about  the  new  job.  He’d  meet  me  in  Ord.” 
Knell  had  spoken  hurriedly  and  low,  now  and  then 
with  passion.  His  pale  eyes  glinted  like  fire  in  ice. 
and  now  his  voice  fell  to  a whisper. 

“Who  do  you  think  Fletcher’s  new  man  is?’ 
“Who?”  demanded  Longstreth. 

“ Buck  Duane!” 

Down  came  Longstreth’s  boots  with  a crash, 
then  his  body  grew  rigid. 

“That  Nueces  outlaw?  That  two-shot  ace-of- 
spades  gun-thrower  who  killed  Bland,  Alloway — V 
“An’  Hardin.”  Knell  whisperedXhis  last  name 
with  more  feeling  than  the  apparent  circumstance 
demanded. 

“Yes;  and  Hardin,  the  best  one  of  the  Rim 
Rock  fellows — Buck  Duane!” 

Longstreth  was  so  ghastly  white  now  that  his 
black  mustache  seemed  outlined  against  chalk.  He 
eyed  his  grim  lieutenant.  They  understood  each 
other  without  more  words.  It  was  enough  that 

325 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Buck  Duane  was  there  in  the  Big  Bend.  Long 
streth  rose  presently  and  reached  for  a flask,  from 
which  he  drank,  then  offered  it  to  Knell.  He  waved 

st  aside. 

“Knell,”  began  the  chief,  slowly,  as  he  wiped  his 
dps,  “I  gathered  you  have  some  grudge  against  this 
Buck  Duane.” 

“Yes.” 

“Well,  don’t  be  a fool  now  and  do  what 

Poggin  or  almost  any  of  you  men  would — don’t 
meet  this  Buck  Duane.  I’ve  reason  to  believe  he’s 
a Texas  Ranger  now.” 

“The  hell  y<u  say!”  exclaimed  Knell. 

“Yes.  Go  to  Ord  and  give  Jim  Fletcher  a hunch. 
He’ll  get  Poggin,  and  they’11  fix  even  Buck  Duane.” 

“All  right.  I’ll  do  my  best.  But  if  I run  into 
Duane — ” 

“Don’t  run  into  him!”  Longstreth’s  voice  fairly 
rang  with  the  force  of  its  passion  and  command. 
He  wiped  his  face,  drank  again  from  the  flask,  sat 
down,  resumed  his  smoking,  and,  drawing  a paper 
from  his  vest  pocket,  he  began  to  study  it. 

“Well,  I’m  glad  that’s  settled,”  he  said,  evidently 
referring  to  the  Duane  matter.  “Now  for  the  new 
job.  This  is  October  the  eighteenth.  On  or  be- 
fore the  twenty-fifth  there  will  be  a shipment  of 
gold  reach  the  Rancher’s  Bank  of  Val  Verde. 
After  you  return  to  Ord  give  Poggin  these  orders. 
Keep  the  gang  quiet.  You,  Poggin,  Kane,  Fletcher, 
Panhandle  Smith,  and  Boldt  to  be  in  on  the  secret 
and  the  job.  Nobody  else.  You’ll  leave  Ord  on 
the  twenty-third,  ride  across  country  by  the  trail 
till  you  get  within  sight  of  Mercer.  It's  a hur 

326 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


dred  miles  from  Bradford  to  Val  Verde — about  the 
same  from  Qrd.  Time  your  travel  to  get  you  near 
Val  Verde  on  the  morning  of  the  twenty-sixth.  You 
won’t  have  to  more  than  trot  your  horses.  At  two 
o’clock  in  the  afternoon,  sharp,  ride  into  town  and 
up  to  the  Rancher’s  Bank.  Val  Verde’s  a pretty 
big  town.  Never  been  any  holdups  there.  Town 
feels  safe.  Make  it  a clean,  fast,  daylight  job. 
That’s  all.  Have  you  got  the  details?” 

Knell  did  not  even  ask  for  the  dates  again. 

“Suppose  Poggin  or  me  might  be  detained?”  he 
asked. 

Longstreth  bent  a dark  glance  upon  his  lieutenant. 

“You  never  can  tell  what  ’ll  come  off.”  continued 
Knell.  “I’ll  do  my  best.” 

“The  minute  you  see  Poggin  ted  him.  A job  on 
hand  steadies  him.  And  I say  again — look  to  it 
that  nothing  happens.  Either  you  or  Poggin  carry 
the  job  through.  But  I want  both  of  you  in  it. 
Break  for  the  hills,  and  when  you  get  up  in  the 
rocks  where  you  can  hide  your  tracks  head  for 
Mount  Ord.  When  all's  quiet  again  I’ll  join  you 
here.  That’s  all.  Call  in  the  boys.” 

Like  a swift  shadow  and  as  noiseless  Duane  stole 
across  the  level  toward  the  dark  wall  of  rock.  Every 
nerve  was  a strung  wire.  For  a little  while  his  mind 
was  cluttered  and  clogged  with  whirling  thoughts, 
from  which,  like  a flashing  scroll,  unrolled  the  long, 
baffling  order  of  action.  The  game  was  now  in  his 
hands.  He  must  cross  Mount  Ord  at  night.  The 
feat  was  improbable,  but  it  might  be  done.  He  must 
ride  into  Bradford,  forty  miles  from  the  foothills 

327 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


before  eight  o’clock  next  morning.  He  must  tele 
graph  MacNelly  to  be  in  Val  Verde  on  the  twenty- 
fifth.  He  must  ride  back  to  Ord,  to  intercept  Knell, 
face  him,  be  denounced,  kill  him,  and  while  the 
iron  was  hot  strike  hard  to  win  Poggin’s  half-won 
interest  as  he  had  wholly  won  Fletcher’s.  Failing 
that  last,  he  must  let  the  outlaws  alone  to  bide  their 
time  in  Ord,  to  be  free  to  ride  on  to  their  new  job 
in  Val  Verde.  In  the  mean  time  he  must  plan  to 
arrest  Longstreth.  It  was  a magnificent  outline, 
incredible,  alluring,  unfathomable  in  its  nameless 
certainty  He  felt  like  fate.  He  seemed  to  be  the 
iron  consequences  falling  upon  these  doomed  out- 
laws. 

Under  the  wall  the  shadows  were  black,  only  the 
tips  of  trees  and  crags  showing,  yet  he  went  straight 
to  the  trail.  It  was  merely  a gray  ness  between  bor- 
ders of  black.  He  climbed  and  never  stopped.  It 
did  not  seem  steep.  Hi?  feet  might  have  had  eyes. 
He  surmounted  the  wall,  and,  looking  down  into  the 
ebony  gulf  pierced  by  one  point  of  light,  he  lifted 
a menacing  arm  and  shook  it.  Then  he  strode  on 
and  did  not  falter  till  he  reached  the  huge  shelving 
cliffs.  Here  he  lost  the  trail;  there  was  none;  but 
he  remembered  the  shapes,  the  points,  the  notches 
of  rock  above.  Before  he  reached  the  ruins  of  splin- 
tered ramparts  and  jumbles  of  broken  walls  the 
moon  topped  the  eastern  slope  of  the  mountain,  and 
the  mystifying  blackness  he  had  dreaded  changed 
to  magic  silver  light.  It  seemed  as  light  as  day, 
only  soft,  mellow,  and  the  air  held  a transparent 
sheen.  He  ran  up  the  bare  ridges  and  down  the 
smooth  slopes,  and,  like  a goat,  jumped  from  rock 

328 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


to  rock.  In  this  light  he  knew  his  way  and  lost  no 
time  looking  for  a trail.  He  crossed  the  divide  and 
then  had  all  downhill  before  him.  Swiftly  he  de- 
scended, almost  always  sure  of  his  memory  of  the 
landmarks.  He  did  not  remember  having  studied 
them  in  the  ascent,  yet  here  they  were,  even  in 
changed  light,  familiar  to  his  sight.  What  he  had 
once  seen  was  pictured  on  his  mind.  And,  true  as 
a deer  striking  for  home,  he  reached  the  canon  where 
he  had  left  his  horse. 

Bullet  was  quickly  and  easily  found.  Duane 
threw  on  the  saddle  and  pack,  cinched  them  tight, 
and  resumed  his  descent.  The  worst  was  now  to 
come.  Bare  downward  steps  in  rock,  sliding,  weath- 
ered slopes,  narrow  black  gullies,  a thousand  open- 
ings in  a maze  of  broken  stone — these  Duane  had  to 
descend  in  fast  time,  leading  a giant  of  a horse. 
Bullet  cracked  the  loose  fragments,  sent  them  roll- 
ing, slid  on  the  scaly  slopes,  plunged  down  the  steps, 
followed  like  a faithful  dog  at  Duane’s  heels. 

Hours  passed  as  moments.  Duane  was  equal  to 
his  great  opportunity.  But  he  could  not  quell  that 
self  in  him  whnh  reached  back  over  the  lapse  of 
lonely,  searing  years  and  found  the  boy  in  him.  He 
who  had  been  worse  than  dead  was  now  grasping 
at  the  skirts  of  life — which  meant  victory,  honor, 
happiness.  Duane  knew  he  was  not  just  right  in 
part  of  his  mind.  Small  wonder  that  he  was  not  in- 
sane, he  thought!  He  tramped  on  downward,  his 
marvelous  faculty  for  covering  rough  ground  and 
holding  to  the  true  course  never  before  even  in 
flight  so  keen  and  acute.  Vet  all  the  time  a spirit 
was  keeping  step  with  him.  Thought  of  Ray  Long- 

320 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

streth  as  he  had  left  her  made  him  weak.  But  now, 
with  the  game  clear  to  its  end,  with  the  trap  to  spring, 
with  success  strangely  haunting  him,  Duane  could 
not  dispel  memory  of  her.  He  saw  her  white  face, 
with  its  sweet  sad  lips  and  the  dark  eyes  so  tender 
and  tragic.  And  time  and  distance  and  risk  and 
toil  were  nothing. 

The  moon  sloped  to  the  west.  Shadows  of  trees 
and  crags  now  crossed  to  the  other  side  of  him.  The 
stars  dimmed.  Then  he  was  out  of  the  rocks,  with 
the  dim  trail  pale  at  his  feet.  Mounting  Bullet,  he 
made  short  work  of  the  long  slope  and  the  foothills 
and  the  rolling  land  leading  dowrn  to  Ord.  The  little 
outlaw  camp,  with  its  shacks  and  cabins  and  row 
of  houses,  lay  silent  and  dark  under  the  paling  moon. 
Duane  passed  by  on  the  lower  trail,  headed  into  the 
road,  and  put  Bullet  to  a gallop.  He  watched  the 
dying  moon,  the  waning  stars,  and  the  east.  He 
had  time  to  spare,  so  he  saved  the  horse.  Knell 
would  be  leaving  the  rendezvous  about  the  time 
Duane  turned  back  toward  Ord.  Between  noon  and 
sunset  they  would  meet. 

The  night  wore  on.  The  moon  sank  behind  low 
mountains  in  the  west.  The  stars  brightened  for  a 
while,  then  faded.  Gray  gloom  enveloped  the  world, 
thickened,  lay  like  smoke  over  the  road.  Then  shade 
by  shade  it  lightened,  until  through  the  transparent 
obscurity  shone  a dim  light. 

Duane  reached  Bradford  before  dawn.  He  dis- 
mounted some  distance  from  the  tracks,  tied  his 
horse,  and  then  crossed  over  to  the  station.  He  heard 
the  clicking  of  the  telegraph  instrument,  and  it  thrilled 
him.  An  operator  sat  inside  reading.  When  Duane 

33° 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


tapped  on  the  window  he  looked  up  with  startled 
glance,  then  went  swiftly  to  unlock  the  door. 

“Hello.  Give  me  paper  and  pencil.  Quick,” 
whispered  Duane. 

With  trembling  hands  the  operator  complied. 
Duane  wrote  out  the  message  he  had  carefully  com- 
posed. 

“Send  this — repeat  it  to  make  sure — then  keep 
mum.  I’ll  see  you  again.  Good-by.” 

The  operator  stared,  but  did  not  speak  a word. 

Duane  left  as  stealthily  and  swiftly  as ' he  had 
come.  He  walked  his  horse  a couple  of  miles  back 
on  the  road  and  then  rested  him  till  break  of  day. 
The  east  began  to  redden,  Duane  turned  grimly  in 
the  direction  of  Ord. 

When  Duane  swung  into  the  wide,  grassy  square 
on  the  outskirts  of  Ord  he  saw  a bunch  of  saddled 
horses  hitched  in  front  of  the  tavern.  He  knew 
what  that  meant.  Luck  still  favored  him.  If  it 
would  only  hold!  But  he  could  ask  no  more.  The 
rest  was  a matter  of  how  greatly  he  could  make  his 
power  felt.  An  open  conflict  against  odds  lay  in  the 
balance.  That  would  be  fatal  to  him,  and  to  avoid 
it  he  had  to  trust  to  his  name  and  a presence  he  must 
make  terrible.  He  knew  outlaws.  He  knew  what 
qualities  held  them.  He  knew  what  to  exaggerate. 

There  was  not  an  outlaw  in  sight.  The  dusty 
horses  had  covered  distance  that  morning.  As  Duane 
dismounted  he  heard  loud,  angry  voices  inside  the 
tavern.  He  removed  coat  and  vest,  hung  them 
over  the  pommel.  He  packed  two  guns,  one  belted 
high  ©a  the  left  hip,  the  other  swinging  low  on  the 

*«  331 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


right  side.  He  neither  looked  nor  listened,  but 
boldly  pushed  the  door  and  stepped  inside. 

The  big  ocm  was  full  of  men,  and  every  face 
pivoted  toward  him.  Knell’s  pale  face  flashed  into 
Duane’s  swiit  sight;  then  Boldt’s,  then  Blossom 
Kane’s,  then  Panhandle  Smith’s,  then  Fletcher’s, 
then  others  that  were  familiar,  and  last  that  of 
Poggin.  Though  Duane  had  never  seen  Poggin  or 
heard  him  described,  he  knew  him.  For  he  saw  a 
face  that  was  a record  of  great  and  evil  deeds. 

There  was  absolute  silence.  The  outlaws  were 
lined  back  of  a long  table  upon  which  were  papers, 
stacks  of  silver  coin,  a bundle  of  bills,  and  a huge 
gold-mounted  gun. 

“Are  you  gents  lookin’  for  me?”  asked  Duane. 
He  gave  his  voice  all  tP  ringing  force  and  power 
of  which  he  was  capabi ,.  And  he  stepped  back, 
free  of  anything,  with  the  outlaws  all  before  him. 

Knell  stood  quivering,  but  his  face  might  have 
been  a mask.  The  other  outlaws  looked  from  him 
to  Duane.  Jim  Fletcher  flung  up  his  hands. 

“My  Gawd,  Dodge,  what ’d  you  bust  in  here  fer?” 
he  said,  plaintively,  and  slowly  stepped  forward. 
His  action  was  that  of  a man  true  to  himself.  He 
meant  he  had  been  sponsor  for  Duane  and  now  he 
would  stand  by  him. 

“Back,  Fletcher!”  called  Duane,  and  his  voice 
made  the  outlaw  jump. 

“Hold  on,  Dodge,  an’  you-all,  everybody,”  said 
Fletcher.  “Let  me  talk,  seein’  I’m  in  wrong  here.” 

His  persuasions  did  not  ease  the  strain.  1 

“Go  ahead.  Talk,”  said  Poggin. 

Fletcher  turned  to  Duane.  “Pard,  I’m  takin’  it 
33= 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


on  myself  thet  you  meet  enemies  here  when  I swore 
you’d  meet  friends.  It’s  my  fault.  I’ll  stand  by 
you  if  you  let  me.” 

“No,  Jim,”  replied  Duane. 

“But  what ’d  you  come  fer  without  the  signal?” 
burst  out  Fletcher,  in  distress.  He  saw  nothing  but 
catastrophe  in  this  meeting. 

‘‘Jim,  I ain’t  pressin’  my  company  none.  But 
when  I’m  wanted  bad — ” 

Fletcher  stopped  him  with  a raised  hand.  Then 
he  turned  to  Poggin  with  a nide  dignity. 

‘ ‘ Poggy,  he’s  my  pard,  an’  he’s  riled.  I never  told 
him  a word  thet  ’d  make  him  sore.  I only  said 
Knell  hadn’t  no  more  use  fer  him  than  fer  me.  Now, 
what  you  say  goes  in  this  gang.  I never  failed  you 
in  my  life.  Here’s  my  pard.  I vouch  fer  him. 
Will  you  stand  fer  me?  There’s  goin’  to  be  hell  if 
you  don’t.  An’  us  with  a big  job  on  hand!” 

While  Fletcher  toiled  over  his  slow,  earnest  per- 
suasion Duane  had  his  gaze  riveted  upon  Poggin. 
There  was  something  leonine  about  Poggin.  He 
was  tawny.  He  blazed.  He  seemed  beautiful  as 
fire  was  beautiful.  But  looked  at  closer,  >*dth  glance 
seeing  the  physical  man,  instead  of  that  thing  which 
shone  from  him,  he  was  of  perfect  build,  with  muscles 
that  swelled  and  rippled,  bulging  his  clothes,  with 
the  magnificent  head  and  face  of  the  cruel,  fierce, 
tawny-eyed  jaguar. 

Looking  at  this  strange  Poggin,  instinctively  di- 
vining his  abnormal  and  hideous  power,  Duane  had 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life  the  inward  quaking  fear 
of  a man.  It  was  like  a cold-tongued  bell  ringing 
within  him  and  numbing  his  heart.  The  old  instinc 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


trire  firing  of  blood  followed,  but  did  not  drive  away 
that  fear.  He  knew.  He  felt  something  here  deeper 
than  thought  could  go.  And  he  hated  Poggin. 

That  individual  had  been  considering  Fletcher’s 
appeal. 

“Jim,  I ante  up,”  he  said,  “an’  if  Phil  doesn’t 
raise  us  out  with  a big  hand — why,  he’ll  get  called, 
an’  your  pard  can  set  in  the  game.” 

Every  eye  shifted  to  Knell.  He  was  dead  white. 
He  laughed,  and  any  one  hearing  that  laugh  would 
have  realized  his  intense  anger  equally  with  an  as- 
surance which  made  him  master  of  the  situation. 

“Poggin,  you’re  a gambler,  you  are — the  acq- 
high,  straight-flush  hand  of  the  Big  Bend,”  he  said, 
with  stinging  scorn.  “I’ll  bet  you  my  roll  to  a 
greaser  peso  that  I can  deal  you  a hand  you’ll  be 
afraid  to  play.” 

“Phil,  you’re  talkin’  wild,”  growled  Poggin,  with 
both  advice  and  menace  in  his  tone. 

“If  there’s  anythin’  you  hate  it’s  a man  who  pre- 
tends to  be  somebody  else  when  he’s  not.  Thet  so?” 

Poggin  nodded  in  slow-gathering  wrath. 

“Well,  pirn’s  new  pard — this  man  Dodge-— he’s 
not  who  he  seems.  Oh-ho ! He’s  a hell  of  a lot  dif- 
ferent. But  I know  him.  An’  when  I spring  his 
name  on  you,  Poggin,  you’ll  freeze  to  your  gizzard. 
Do  you  get  me?  You’ll  freeze,  an’  your  hand  ’ll  be 
stiff  when  it  ought  to  be  lightnin’ — All  because  you’ll 
realize  you’ve  been  standin’  there  five  minutes — 
five  minutes  alive  before  him!” 

If  not  hate,  then  assuredly  great  passion  toward 
Poggin  manifested  itself  in  Knell’s  scornful,  fiery 
address,  in  the  shaking  hand  he  thrust  before  Pog- 

334 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


gin’s  face.  In  the  ensuing  silent  pause  Knell’s 
panting  could  be  plainly  heard.  The  other  men 
were  pale,  watchful,  cautiously  edging  either  way 
to  the  wall,  leaving  the  principals  and  Duane  in  the 
center  of  the  room. 

“Spring  his  name,  then,  you — ” said  Poggin, 
violently,  with  a curse. 

Strangely  Knell  did  not  even  look  at  the  man  he 
was  about  to  denounce.  He  leaned  toward  Poggin, 
his  hands,  his  body,  his  long  head  all  somewhat  ex- 
pressive of  what  his  face  disguised. 

“ Buck  Duane!”  he  yelled,  suddenly. 

The  name  did  not  make  any  great  difference  in 
Poggin.  But  Knell’s  passionate,  swift  utterance  car- 
ried the  suggestion  that  the  name  ought  to  bring 
Poggin  to  quick  action.  It  was  possible,  too,  that 
Knell's  manner,  the  import  of  his  denunciation,  the 
meaning  back  of  all  his  passion  held  Poggin  bound 
more  than  the  surprise.  For  the  outlaw  certainly 
was  surprised,  perhaps  staggered  at  the  idea  that 
he,  Poggin,  had  been  about  to  stand  sponsor  with 
Fletcher  for  a famous  outlaw  hated  and  feared  by 
all  outlaws. 

Knell  waited  a long  moment,  and  then  his  face 
broke  its  cold  immobility  in  an  extraordinary  ex- 
pression of  devilish  glee.  He  had  hounded  the  great 
Poggin  into  something  that  gave  him  vicious,  mon- 
strous joy. 

“Buck  Duane!  Yes,”  he  broke  out,  hotly.  “The 
Nueces  gunman!  That  two-shot,  ace-of -spades  lone 
wolf!  You  an’  I — we’ve  heard  a thousand  times  of 
him — talked  about  him  often.  An’  here  he  is  in  front 
of  yon!  Poggin,  you  were  backin’  Fletcher’s  new 

335 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


pard,  Buck  Duane.  An’  he’d  fooled  you  both  but  for 
me.  But  / know  him.  An’  I know  why  he  drifted 
in  here.  To  flash  a gun  on  Cheseldine — on  you — on 
me ! Bah ! Don’t  tell  me  he  wanted  to  join  the  gang. 
You  know  a gunman,  for  you’re  one  yourself.  Don’t 
you  always  want  to  kill  another  man?  An’  don’t 
you  always  want  to  meet  a real  man,  not  a four- 
flush?  It’s  the  madness  of  the  gunman,  an’  I know 
it.  Well,  Duane  faced  you — called  you!  An’  when 
I sprung  his  name,  what  ought  you  have  done? 
What  would  the  boss — anybody — have  expected  of 
Poggin?  Did  you  throw  your  gun,  swift,  like  you 
have  so  often?  Naw;  you  froze.  An’  why?  Be- 
cause here’s  a man  with  the  kind  of  nerve  you’d 
love  to  have.  Because  he’s  great — meetin’  us  here 
alone.  Because  you  know  he’s  a wonder  with  a gun 
an’  you  love  life.  Because  you  an’  I an’  every  damned 
man  here  had  to  take  his  front,  each  to  himself.  If 
we  all  drew  we’d  kill  him.  Sure!  But  who’s  goin’ 
to  lead?  Who  was  goin’  to  be  first?  Who  was  goin’ 
to  make  him  draw?  Not  you,  Poggin!  You  leave 
that  for  a lesser  man — me — who’ve  lived  to  see  you 
a coward.  It  comes  once  to  every  gunman.  You’ve 
met  your  match  in  Buck  Duane.  An’,  by  God,  I’m 
glad!  Here’s  once  I show  you  up!” 

The  hoarse,  taunting  voice  failed.  Knell  stepped 
back  from  the  comrade  he  hated.  He  was  wet, 
shaking,  haggard,  but  magnificent. 

“Buck  Duane,  do  you  remember  Hardin?”  he 
asked,  in  scarcely  audible  voice. 

“Yes,”  replied  Duane,  and  a flash  of  insight  made 
clear  Knell’s  attitude. 

“You  met  him — forced  him  to  draw — killed  him  ?” 

33*5 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“Yes.” 

“Hardin  was  the  best  pard  I ever  had.” 

His  teeth  clicked  together  tight,  and  his  lips  set 
in  a thin  line. 

The  room  grew  still.  Even  breathing  ceased.  The 
time  for  words  had  passed.  In  that  long  moment 
of  suspense  Knell’s  body  gradually  stiffened,  and  at 
last  the  quivering  ceased.  He  crouched.  His  eyes 
had  a soul-piercing  fire. 

Duane  watched  them.  He  waited.  He  caught 
the  thought — the  breaking  of  Knell’s  muscle-bound 
rigidity.  Then  he  drew. 

Through  the  smoke  of  his  gun  he  saw  two  red 
spurts  of  flame.  Knell’s  bullets  thudded  into  the 
ceiling.  He  fell  with  a scream  like  a wild  thing  in 
agony. 

Duane  did  not  see  Knell  die.  He  watched  Poggin. 
And  Poggin,  like  a stricken  and  astounded  man, 
looked  down  upon  his  prostrate  comrade. 

Fletcher  ran  at  Duane  with  hands  aloft. 

“Hit  the  trail,  you  liar,  or  you’ll  hev  to  kill  me!” 
he  yelled. 

With  hands  still  up,  he  shouldered  and  bodied 
Duane  out  of  the  room. 

Duane  leaped  on  his  horse,  spurred,  and  plunged 
away. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 


DUANE  returned  to  Fairdale  and  camped  in  the 
mesquite  till  the  twenty-third  of  the  month. 
The  few  days  seemed  endless.  All  he  could  think 
of  was  that  the  hour  in  which  he  must  disgrace  Ray 
Longstreth  was  slowly  but  inexorably  coming.  In 
that  waiting  time  he  learned  what  love  was  and 
also  duty.  When  the  day  at  last  dawned  he  rode 
like  one  possessed  down  the  rough  slope,  hurdling 
the  stones  and  crashing  through  the  brush,  with  a 
sound  in  his  ears  that  was  not  all  the  rush  of  the 
wind.  Something  dragged  at  him. 

Apparently  one  side  of  his  mind  was  unalterably 
fixed,  while  the  other  was  a hurrying  conglomera- 
tion of  flashes  of  thought,  reception  of  sensations. 
He  could  not  get  calmness.  By  and  by,  almost  in- 
voluntarily, he  hurried  faster  on.  Action  seemed  to 
make  his  state  less  oppressive;  it  eased  the  weight. 
But  the  farther  he  went  on  the  harder  it  was  to  con- 
tinue. Had  he  turned  his  back  upon  love,  happiness, 
perhaps  on  life  itself? 

There  seemed  no  use  to  go  on  farther  until  he  was 
absolutely  sure  of  himself.  Duane  received  a clear 
warning  thought  that  such  work  as  seemed  haunting 
and  driving  him  could  never  be  carried  out  in  the 
mood  under  which  he  labored.  He  hung  on  to  that, 
thought.  Several  times  he  slowed  up,  then  stopped, 

338 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


only  to  go  on  again.  At  length,  as  he  mounted  a 
low  ridge,  Fairdale  lay  bright  and  green  before  him 
not  far  away,  and  the  sight  was  a conclusive  check. 
There  were  mesquites  on  the  ridge,  and  Duane 
sought  the  shade  beneath  them.  It  was  the  noon- 
hour,  with  hot,  glary  sun  and  no  wind.  Here  Duane 
had  to  have  out  his  fight.  Duane  was  utterly  un- 
like himself;  he  could  not  bring  the  old  self  back; 
he  was  not  the  same  man  he  once  had  been.  But 
he  could  understand  why.  It  was  because  of  Ray 
Longstreth.  Temptation  assailed  him.  To  have 
her  his  wife!  It  was  impossible.  The  thought  was 
insidiously  alluring.  Duane  pictured  a home.  He 
saw  himself  riding  through  the  cotton  and  rice  and 
cane,  home  to  a stately  old  mansion,  where  long- 
eared hounds  bayed  him  welcome,  and  a woman 
looked  for  him  and  met  him  with  happy  and  beau- 
tiful smile.  There  might — there  would  be  children. 
And  something  new,  strange,  confounding  with  its 
emotion,  came  to  life  deep  in  Duane’s  heart.  There 
would  be  children!  Ray  their  mother!  The  kind 
of  life  a lonely  outcast  always  yearned  for  and  never 
had ! He  saw  it  all,  felt  it  all. 

But  beyond  and  above  all  other  claims  came 
Captain  MacNelly’s.  It  was  then  there  was  some- 
thing cold  and  death-like  in  Duane’s  soul.  For  he 
knew,  whatever  happened,  of  one  thing  he  was  sure 
— he  would  have  to  kill  either  Longstreth  or  Lawson. 
Longstreth  might  be  trapped  into  arrest ; but  Lawson 
had  no  sense,  no  control,  no  fear.  He  would  snarl 
like  a panther  and  go  for  his  gun,  and  he  would  have 
to  be  killed.  This,  of  all  consummations,  was  the 
one  to  be  calculated  upon. 

339 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Duane  came  out  of  it  all  bitter  and  callous  and 
sore — in  the  most  fitting  of  moods  to  undertake  a 
difficult  and  deadly  enterprise.  He  had  fallen  upon 
his  old  strange,  futile  dreams,  new  rendered  poignant 
by  reason  of  love.  He  drove  away  those  dreams. 
In  their  places  came  the  images  of  the  olive-skinned 
Longstreth  with  his  sharp  eyes,  and  the  dark,  evil- 
faced Lawson,  and  then  returned  tenfold  more 
thrilling  arid  sinister  the  old  strange  passion  to  meet 
Poggin. 

It  was  about  one  o’clock  when  Duane  rode  into 
Fairdale.  The  streets  for  the  most  part  were  de- 
serted. He  went  directly  to  find  Morton  and 
Zimmer.  He  found  them  at  length,  restless,  somber, 
anxious,  but  unaware  of  the  part  he  had  played  at 
Ord.  They  said  Longstreth  was  home,  too.  It  was 
possible  that  Longstreth  had  arrived  home  in  igno- 
rance. 

Duane  told  them  to  be  on  hand  in  town  with 
their  men  in  case  he  might  need  them,  and  then 
with  teeth  locked  he  set  off  for  Longstreth’s  ranch. 

Duane  stole  through  the  bushes  and  trees,  and 
when  nearing  the  porch  he  heard  loud,  angry, 
familiar  voices.  Longstreth  and  Lawson  were  quar- 
reling again.  How  Duane’s  lucky  star  guided  him! 
He  had  no  plan  of  action,  but  his  brain  was  equal 
to  a hundred  lightning-swift  evolutions.  He  meant 
to  take  any  risk  rather  than  kill  Longstreth.  Both 
of  the  men  were  out  on  the  porch.  Duane  wormed 
his  way  to  the  edge  of  the  shrubbery  and  crouched 
low  to  watch  for  his  opportunity. 

Longstreth  looked  haggard  and  thin.  He  was  in 
his  shirt-sleeves,  and  he  had  come  out  with  a gun  in 

340 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


his  hand.  This  he  laid  on  a table  near  the  wall. 
He  wore  no  belt. 

Lawson  was  red,  bloated,  thick-lipped,  all  fiery 
and  sweaty  from  drink,  though  sober  on  the  moment, 
and  he  had  the  expression  of  a desperate  man  in 
his  last  stand.  It  was  his  last  stand,  though  he 
was  ignorant  of  that. 

“What’s  your  news?  You  needn’t  be  afraid  of 
my  feelings,”  said  Lawson. 

“Ray  confessed  to  an  interest  in  this  ranger,” 
replied  Longstreth. 

Duane  thought  Lawson  would  choke.  He  was 
thick-necked  anyway,  and  the  rush  of  blood  made 
him  tear  at  the  soft  collar  of  his  shirt.  Duane  awaited 
his  chance,  patient,  cold,  all  his  feelings  shut  in  a vise. 

“But  why  should  your  daughter  meet  this  ranger?” 
demanded  Lawson,  harshly. 

“She’s  in  love  with  him,  and  he’s  in  love  with  her.” 

Duane  reveled  in  Lawson’s  condition.  The  state- 
ment might  have  had  the  force  of  a juggernaut.  Was 
Longstreth  sincere?  What  was  his  game? 

Lawson,  finding  his  voice,  cursed  Ray,  cursed  the 
ranger,  then  Longstreth. 

“You  damned  selfish  fool!”  cried  Longstreth,  in 
deep  bitter  scorn.  “All  you  think  of  is  yourself — ■ 
your  loss  of  the  girl.  Think  once  of  me — my  home 
— my  life!” 

Then  the  connection  subtly  pxit  out  by  Longstreth 
apparently  dawned  upon  the  other.  Somehow 
through  this  girl  her  father  and  cousin  were  to  be 
betrayed.  Duane  got  that  impression,  though  he 
could  not  tell  how  true  it  was.  Certainly  Lawson’s 
jealousy  was  his  paramount  emotion. 

34i 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“To  hell  with  you!”  burst  out  Lawsoa,  inoo- 
L^rently.  He  was  frenzied.  “I’ll  have  her,  or  no- 
body else  will!” 

“You  never  will,”  returned  Longstreth,  stridently. 
“So  help  me  God  I’d  rather  see  her  the  ranger’s  wife ; 
than  yours!” 

While  Lawson  absorbed  that  shock  Longstreth 
leaned  toward  him,  all  of  hate  and  menace  in  his 
mien. 

“Lawson,  you  made  me  what  I am,”  continued 
Longstreth.  “I  backed  you — shielded  you.  You're 
Cheseldine — if  the  truth  is  told!  Now  it’s  ended. 

I quit  you.  I’m  done!”  / 

Their  gray  passion-corded  faces  were  still  as  stones. 

“Gentlemen!”  Duane  called  in  far-reaching  voice 
as  he  stepped  out.  “You're  both  done!” 

They  wheeled  to  confront  Duane. 

“Don’t  move!  Not  a muscle!  Not  a finger!”  he 
warned. 

Longstreth  read  what  Lawson  had  not  the  mind 
to  read.  His  face  turned  from  gray  to  ashen. 

“What  d’ye  mean?”  yelled  Lawson,  fiercely, 
shrilly.  It  was  not  in  him  to  obey  a command,  to 
see  impending  death. 

All  quivering  and  strung,  yet  with  perfect  control, 
Duane  raised  his  left  hand  to  turn  back  a lapel  of 
his  open  vest.  The  silver  star  flashed  brightly. 

Lawson  howled  like  a dog.  With  barbarous  and 
insane  fury,  with  sheer  impotent  folly,  he  swept  a 
clawing  hand  for  his  gun.  Duane’s  shot  broke  his 
action. 

Before  Lawson  even  tottered,  before  he  loosed 
the  gun,  Longstreth  leaped  behind  him,  clasped  him 

342 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


with  left  arm,  quick  as  lightning  jerked  the  gun 
from  both  clutching  fingers  and  sheath.  Longstreth 
protected  himself  with  the  body  of  the  dead  man. 
Duane  saw  red  flashes,  puffs  of  smoke;  he  heard 
quick  reports.  Something  stung  his  left  arm.  Then 
a blow  like  wind,  light  of  sound  yet  shocking  in  im- 
pact, struck  him,  staggered  him.  The  hot  rend  of 
lead  followed  the  blow.  Duane’s  heart  seemed  to 
explode,  yet  his  mind  kept  extraordinarily  clear  and 
rapid. 

Duane  heard  Longstreth  work  the  action  of  Law- 
son’s gun.  He  heard  the  hammer  click,  fall  upon 
empty  shells.  Longstreth  had  used  up  all  the  loads 
in  Lawson’s  gun.  He  cursed  as  a man  cursed  at 
defeat.  Duane  waited,  cool  and  sure  now.  Long- 
streth tried  to  lift  the  dead  man,  to  edge  him  closer 
toward  the  table  where  his  own  gun  lay.  But,  con- 
sidering the  peril  of  exposing  himself,  he  found  the 
task  beyond  him.  He  bent  peering  at  Duane  under 
Lawson’s  arm,  which  flopped  out  from  his  side. 
Longsfcreth’s  eyes  were  the  eyes  of  a man  who  meant 
to  kill.  There  v/as  never  any  mistaking  the  strange 
and  terrible  light  of  eyes  like  those.  More  than 
once  Duane  had  a chance  to  aim  at  them,  at  the  top 
of  Longstreth’s  head,  at  a strip  of  his  side. 

Longstreth  flung  Lawson’s  body  off.  But  even 
as  it  dropped,  before  Longstreth  could  leap,  as  he 
surely  intended,  for  the  gun,  Duane  covered  him, 
called  piercingly  to  him: 

“Don’t  jump  for  the  gun!  Don’t!  I’ll  kill  you! 
Sure  as  God  I’ll  kill  you!” 

Longstreth  stood  perhaps  ten  feet  from  the  table 
where  his  gun  lay.  Duane  saw  him  calculating 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


chances.  He  was  game.  He  had  the  courage  that 
forced  Duane  to  respect  him.  Duane  just  saw  him 
measure  the  distance  to  that  gun.  He  was  magnifi- 
cent. He  meant  to  do  it.  Duane  would  have  to 
kill  him. 

“Longstreth,  listen,”  cried  Duane,  swiftly.  “The 
game’s  up.  You’re  done.  But  think  of  your  daugh- 
ter! I’ll  spare  your  life — I’ll  try  tc  get  you  freedom 
on  one  condition.  For  her  sake!  I’ve  got  you 
nailed — all  the  proofs.  There  lies  Lawson.  You’re 
alone.  I’ve  Morton  and  men  to  my  aid.  Give  up. 
Surrender.  Consent  to  demands,  and  I’ll  spare  you. 
Maybe  I can  persuade  MacNelly  to  let  you  go  free 
back  to  your  old  country.  It’s  for  Ray’s  sake!  Her 
life,  perhaps  her  happiness,  can  be  saved!  Hurry, 
man ! Your  answer!” 

“Suppose  I refuse?”  he  queried,  with  a dark  and 
terrible  earnestness. 

“Then  I’ll  kill  you  in  your  tracks!  You  can’t 
move  a hand!  Your  word  or  death!  Hurry,  Long- 
streth! Beaman!  For  her  sake!  Quick!  Another 
second  now — I’ll  kill  you!” 

“All  right,  Buck  Duane,  I give  my  word,”  he 
said,  and  deliberately  walked  to  the  chair  and  fell 
into  it. 

Longstreth  looked  strangely  at  the  bloody  blot 
on  Duane’s  shoulder. 

“There  come  the  girls!”  he  suddenly  exclaimed. 
“Can  you  help  me  drag  Lawson  inside?  They 
mustn’t  see  him.” 

Duane  was  facing  down  the  porch  toward  the 
court  and  corrals.  Miss  Longstreth  and  Ruth  had 
come  in  sight,  were  swiftly  approaching,  evidently 

344 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


alarmed.  The  two  men  succeeded  in  drawing  Law« 
son  into  the  house  before  the  girls  saw  him. 

“Duane,  you’re  not  hard  hit?”  said  Longstreth, 
“Reckon  not,”  replied  Duane. 

“I’m  sorry.  If  only  you  could  have  told  me 
sooner!  Lawson,  damn  him!  Always  I’ve  split 
over  him!” 

“But  the  last,  time,  Longstreth.” 

“Yes,  and  I came  near  driving  you  to  kill  me,  toe. 
Duane,  you  talked  me  out  of  it.  Foi  Ray’s  sake! 
She’ll  be  in  here  in  a minute.  This  ’ll  be  harder  than 
facing  a gun.” 

“Hard  now.  But  I hope  it  ’ll  turn  out  all  right.” 
“Duane,  will  you  do  me  a favor?”  he  asked,  and 
he  seemed  shamefaced. 

“Sure.” 

“Let  Ray  and  Ruth  think  Lawson  shot  you.  He’s 
dead.  It  can’t  matter.  Duane,  the  old  side  of  my 
life  is  coming  back.  It’s  been  coming.  It  ’ll  be  here 
just  about  when  she  enters  this  room.  And,  by  God, 
I’d  change  places  with  Lawson  if  I could!” 

“Glad  you — said  that,  Longstreth,”  replied  Duane. 
“And  sure — Lawson  plugged  me.  It’s  our  secret.” 
Just  then  Ray  and  Ruth  entered  the  room.  Duane 
heard  two  low  cries,  so  different  in  tone,  and  he  saw 
two  white  faces.  Ray  came  to  his  side.  She  lifted 
a shaking  hand  to  point  at  the  blood  upon  his  breast. 
White  and  mute,  she  gazed  from  that  to  her  father. 
“Papa!”  cried  Ray,  wringing  her  hands. 

“Don’t  give  way,”  he  replied,  huskily.  “Both 
you  girls  will  need  your  nerve.  Duane  isn’t  badly 
hurt.  But  Floyd  is — is  dead.  Listen.  Let  me  tell 
it  quick.  There’s  been  a fight.  It — it  was  Lawson 

345 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


— it  was  Lawson’s  gun  that  shot  Duane.  Duane  let 
me  off.  In  fact,  Raj'-,  he  saved  me.  I’m  t-o  divide 
my  property — return  so  far  as  possible  what  I’ve 
stolen — leave  Texas  at  once  with  Duane,  under  ar- 
rest. He  says  maybe  he  can  get  MacNelly,  the 
ranger  captain,  to  let  me  go.  For  your  sake!” 

She  stood  there,  realizing  her  deliverance,  with 
the  dark  and  tragic  glory  of  her  eyes  passing  from 
her  father  to  Duane. 

“You  must  rise  above  this,”  said  Duane  to  her. 
“I  expected  this  to  ruin  you.  But  your  father  is 
alive.  He  will  live  it  down.  I’m  sure  I can  promise 
you  he’ll  be  free.  Perhaps  back  there  in  Louisiana 
the  dishonor  will  never  be  known.  This  country 
is  far  from  your  old  home.  And  even  in  San  An- 
tonio and  Austin  a man’s  evil  repute  means  little. 
Then  the  line  between  a rustler  and  a rancher  is 
hard  to  draw  in  these  wild  border  days.  Rustling 
is  stealing  cattle,  and  I once  heard  a well-known 
rancher  say  that  all  rich  cattlemen  had  done  a 
little  stealing.  Your  father  drifted  out  here,  and, 
like  a good  many  others,  he  succeeded.  It’s  per- 
haps just  as  well  not  to  split  hairs,  to  judge  him  by 
the  law  and  morality  of  a civilized  country.  Some 
way  or  other  he  drifted  in  with  bad  men.  Maybe 
a deal  that  was  honest  somehow  tied  his  hands. 
This  matter  of  land,  water,  a few  stray  head  of 
stock  had  to  be  decided  out  of  court.  I’m  sure  in 
his  case  he  never  realized  where  he  was  drifting. 
Then  one  thing  led  to  another,  until  he  was  face  to 
face  with  dealing  that  took  on  crooked  form.  To 
protect  himself  he  bound  men  to  him.  And  so  the 
gang  developed.  Many  powerful  gangs  have  d©- 

346 


]f HE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

veloped  that  way  out  here.  He  could  not  control 
them.  He  became  involved  with  therm  And  even- 
tually their  dealings  became  deliberately  and  boldly 
dishonest.  That  meant  the  inevitable  spilling  of 
blood  sooner  or  later,  and  so  he  grew  into  the  leader 
because  he  was  the  strongest.  Whatever  he  is  to 
be  judged  for,  I thins  he  could  have  bees?  *ofinitely 
worse.” 

«3 


CHAPTER  XXIV 


ON  the  morning  of  the  twenty-sixth  Duane  rode 
into  Bradford  in  time  to  catch  the  early  train. 
His  wounds  did  not  seriously  incapacitate  him. 
Longstreth  was  with  him.  And  Miss  Longstreth 
and  Ruth  Herbert  would  not  be  left  behind.  They 
were  all  leaving  Fairdale  for  ever.  Longstreth  had 
turned  over  the  whole  of  his  property  to  Morton, 
who  was  to  divide  it  as  he  and  his  comrades  believed 
just.  Duane  had  left  Fairdale  with  his  party  by 
night,  passed  through  Sanderson  in  the  early  hours 
of  dawn,  and  reached  Bradford  as  he  had  planned. 

That,  fateful  morning  found  Duane  outwardly 
calm,  but  inwardly  he  was  in  a tumult.  He  wanted 
to  rush  to  Val  Verde.  Would  Captain  MacNelly 
be  there  with  his  rangers,  as  Duane  had  planned 
for  them  to  be?  Memory  of  that  tawny  Poggin  re- 
turned with  strange  passion.  Duane  had  borne 
hours  and  weeks  and  months  of  waiting,  had  endured 
the  long  hours  of  the  outlaw,  but  now  he  had  no 
patience.  The  whistle  of  the  train  made  him  leap. 
It  was  a fast  train,  yet  the  ride  seemed  slow. 
Duane,  disliking  to  face  Longstreth  and  the  pas- 
sengers in  the  car,  changed  his  seat  to  one  behind 
hi?  prisoner.  They  had  seldom  spoken.  Longstreth 
sat  with  bowed  head,  deep  in  thought.  The  girls 
3at  in  a seat  near  by  and  were  pale  but  composed. 

348 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Occasionally  the  train  halted  briefly  at  a station. 
The  latter  half  of  that  ride  Duane  had  observed  a 
wagon-road  running  parallel  with  the  railroad,  some- 
times right  alongside,  at  others  near  or  far  away. 
When  the  train  was  about  twenty  miles  from  Val 
Verde  Duane  espied  a dark  group  of  horsemen 
trotting  eastward.  His  blood  beat  like  a hammer 
at  his  temples.  The  gang!  He  thought  he  recog- 
nized the  tawny  Poggin  and  felt  a strange  inward 
contraction.  He  thought  he  recognized  the  clean- 
cut  Blossom  Kane,  the  black-bearded  giant  Boldt, 
the  red  - faced  Panhandle  Smith,  and  Fletcher. 
There  was  another  man  strange  to  him.  Was  that 
Knell?  No!  it  could  not  have  been  Knell. 

Duane  leaned  over  the  seat  and  touched  Long- 
streth  on  the  shoulder. 

“Look!”  he  whispered.  Cheseldine  was  stiff.  He 
had  already  seen. 

The  train  flashed  by;  the  outlaw  gang  receded 
out  of  range  of  sight. 

“Did  you  notice  Knell  wasn’t  with  them?”  whis- 
pered Duane. 

Duane  did  not  speak  to  Longstreth  again  till  the 

train  stopped  at  Val  Verde. 

They  got  off  the  car,  and  the  girls  followed  as 
naturally  as  ordinary  travelers.  The  station  was 
a good  deal  larger  than  that  at  Bradford,  and  there 
was  considerable  action  and  bustle  incident  to  the 
arrival  of  the  train. 

Duane’s  sweeping  gaze  searched  faces,  rested  upon 
a man  who  seemed  familiar.  This  fellow’s  look,  too, 
was  that  of  one  who  knew  Duane,  but  was  waiting 
for  a sign,  a cue.  Then  Duane  recognized  him — 

349 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


MacNelly,  clean-shaven.  Without  mustache  he  ap- 
peared different,  younger. 

When  MacNelly  saw  that  Duane  intended  to 
greet  him,  to  meet  him,  he  hurried  forward.  A keen 
light  flashed  from  his  eyes.  He  was  glad,  eager,  yet 
suppressing  himself,  and  the  glances  he  sent  back 
and  forth  from  Duane  to  Longstreth  were  question- 
ing, doubtful.  Certainly  Longstreth  did  not  look 
the  part  of  an  outlaw. 

“Duane?  Lord,  I’m  glad  to  see  you,”  was  the 
Captain’s  greeting.  Then  at  closer  look  into  Duane’s 
face  his  warmth  fled — something  he  saw  there 
checked  his  enthusiasm,  or  at  least  its  utterance. 

“MacNelly,  shake  hands  with  Cheseldine,”  said 
Duane,  low-voiced. 

The  ranger  captain  stood  dumb,  motionless.  But 
he  saw  Longstreth’s  instant  action,  and  awkwardly 
he  reached  for  the  outstretched  hand. 

“Any  of  your  men  down  here?”  queried  Duane, 
sharply. 

“No.  They’re  up-town.” 

“Come.  MacNelly,  you  walk  with  him.  We’ve 
ladies  in  the  party.  I’ll  come  behind  with  them.” 

They  set  off  up-town.  Longstreth  walked  as  if 
he  were  with  friends  on  the  way  to  dinner.  The 
girls  were  mute.  MacNelly  walked  like  a man  in 
a trance.  There  was  not  a word  spoken  in  four 
blocks. 

Presently  Duane  espied  a stone  building  on  a cor- 
ner of  the  broad  street.  There  was  a big  sign, 
“Rancher’s  Bank.” 

“There's  the  hotel,”  said  MacNelly.  “Some  of 
my  men  are  there.  We’ve  scattered  around.” 

35° 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

They  crossed  the  street,  went  through  office  and 
lobby,  and  then  Duane  asked  MacNelly  to  take 
them  to  a private  room.  Without  a word  the  Cap- 
tain complied.  When  they  were  all  inside  Duane 
closed  the  door,  and,  drawing  a deep  breath  as  if  of 
relief,  he  faced  them  calmly. 

“Miss  Longstreth,  you  and  Miss  Ruth  try  to 
make  yourselves  comfortable  now,”  he  said.  “And 
don’t  be  distressed.”  Then  he  turned  to  his  cap- 
tain. “MacNelly,  this  girl  is  the  daughter  of  the 
man  I’ve  brought  to  you,  and  this  one  is  his  niece.” 

Then  Duane  briefly  related  Longstreth’s  story, 
and,  though  he  did  not  spare  the  rustler  chief,  he  was 
generous. 

“When  I went  after  Longstreth,”  concluded 
Duane,  “it  was  either  to  kill  him  or  offer  him  freedom 
on  conditions.  So  I chose  the  latter  for  his  daughter’s 
sake.  He  has  already  disposed  of  all  his  property. 
I believe  he’ll  live  up  to  the  conditions.  He’s  to 
leave  Texas  never  to  return.  The  name  Cbeseldine 
has  been  a mystery,  and  now  it  ’ll  fade,” 

A few  moments  later  Duane  followed  MacNelly 
to  a large  room,  like  a hall,  and  here  were  men  read- 
ing and  smoking.  Duane  knew  them — rangers’ 

MacNelly  beckoned  to  his  men. 

“Boys,  here  he  is.” 

“How  many  men  have  you?”  asked  Duane. 

“Fifteen.” 

MacNelly  almost  embraced  Duane,  would  prob- 
ably have  done  so  but  for  the  dark  grimness  that 
seemed  to  be  coming  over  the  man.  Instead  he 
glowed,  he  sputtered,  he  tried  to  talk,  to  wave  his 

35i 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


hands.  He  was  beside  himself.  And  his  rangers 
crowded  closer,  eager,  like  hounds  ready  to  run. 
They  all  talked  at  once,  and  the  word  most  signifi- 
cant and  frequent  in  their  speech  was  “outlaws.” 
MacNelly  clapped  his  fist  in  his  hand 
“This  ’ll  make  the  adjutant  sick  with  joy.  May- 
be we  won’t  have  it  on  the  Governor!  We’ll  show 
them  about  the  ranger  service.  Duane!  how’d  you 
ever  do  it?” 

“Now,  Captain,  not  the  half  nor  the  quarter  of 
this  job’s  done.  The  gang’s  coming  down  the  road. 
I saw  them  from  the  train.  They’ll  ride  into  town 
on  the  dot — two- thirty.” 

“How  many?”  asked  MacNelly. 

“Poggin,  Blossom  Kane,  Panhandle  Smith,  Boldt, 
Jim  Fletcher,  and  another  man  I don’t  know.  These 
are  the  picked  men  of  Cheseldine’s  gang.  I’ll  bet 
they’ll  be  the  fastest,  hardest  bunch  you  rangers 
ever  faced.” 

‘ ‘ Poggin — that’s  the  hard  nut  to  crack ! I’ve  heard 
their  records  since  I’ve  been  in  Val  Verde.  Where’s 
Knell?  They  say  he’s  a boy,  but  hell  and  blazes!” 
“Knell’s  dead.” 

“Ah!”  exclaimed  MacNelly,  softly.  Then  he  grew 
business-like,  cool,  and  of  harder  aspect.  “Duane, 
it’s  your  game  to-day.  I’m  only  a ranger  under  or- 
ders. We’re  all  under  your  orders.  We’ve  absolute 
faith  in  you.  Make  your  plan  quick,  so  I can  go 
round  and  post  the  boys  who  ’re  not  here.” 

“You  understand  there’s  no  sense  in  trying  to 
arrest  Poggin,  Kane,  and  that  lot?”  queried  Duane. 

“No,  I don’t  understand  that,”  replied  MacNelly, 
bluntly. 


352 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“It  can’t  be  done.  The  drop  can’t  be  got  on  such 
men.  If  you  meet  them  they  shoot,  and  mighty 
quick  and  straight.  Poggin!  That  outlaw  has  no 
equal  with  a gun — unless — He’s  got  to  be  killed 
quick.  They’ll  all  have  to  be  killed.  They’re  all 
bad,  desperate,  know  no  fear,  are  lightning  in  ac- 
tion.” 

“Very  well,  Duane;  then  it’s  a fight.  That  ’ll  be 
easier,  perhaps.  The  boys  are  spoiling  for  a fight. 
Out  with  your  plan,  now.” 

“Put  one  man  at  each  end  of  this  street,  just  at 
the  edge  of  town.  Let  him  hide  there  with  a rifle 
to  block  the  escape  of  any  outlaw  that  we  might  fail 
to  get.  I had  a good  look  at  the  bank  building.  It’s 
well  situated  for  our  purpose.  Put  four  men  up  in 
that  room  over  the  bank — four  men,  two  at  each 
open  window.  Let  them  hide  till  the  game  begins. 
They  want  to  be  there  so  in  case  these  foxy  outlaws 
get  wise  before  they’re  down  on  the  ground  or  inside 
the  bank.  The  rest  of  your  men  put  inside  behind 
the  counters,  where  they’ll  hide.  Now  go  over  to 
the  bank,  spring  the  thing  on  the  bank  officials, 
and  don’t  let  them  shut  up  the  bank.  You  want 
their  aid.  Let  them  make  sure  of  their  gold.  But 
the  clerks  and  cashier  ought  to  be  at  their  desks  or 
window  when  Poggin  rides  up.  Pie’ll  glance  in  be- 
fore he  gets  down.  They  make  no  mistakes,  these 
fellows.  We  must  be  slicker  than  they  are,  or  lose. 
When  you  get  the  bank  people  wise,  send  your  men 
over  one  by  one.  No  hurry,  no  excitement,  no  un- 
usual thing  to  attract  notice  in  the  bank.” 

“All  right.  That’s  great.  Tell  me,  where  do  you 
intend  to  wait?” 


353 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Duane  heard  MacNelly’s  question,  and  it  struck 
him  peculiarly.  He  had  seemed  to  be  planning  and 
speaking  mechanically.  As  he  was  confronted  by 
the  fact  it  nonplussed  him  somewhat,  and  he  be- 
came thoughtful,  with  lowered  head. 

“Where  ’ll  you  wait,  Duane?”  insisted  MacNelly, 
with  keen  eyes  speculating. 

“I’ll  wait  in  front — just  inside  the  door,”  replied 
Duane,  with  an  effort. 

“Why?”  demanded  the  Captain. 

“Well,”  began  Duane,  slowly,  “Poggin  will  get 
down  first  and  start  in.  But  the  others  won’t  be 
far  behind.  They’ll  not  get  swift  till  inside.  The 
thing  is — they  mustn't  get  clear  inside,  because  the 
instant  they  do  they’ll  pull  guns.  That  means 
death  to  somebody.  If  we  can  we  want  to  stop 
them  just  at  the  door.” 

“But  will  you  hide?”  asked  MacNelly. 

“Hide!”  The  idea  had  not  occurred  to  Duane. 

“There’s  a wide-open  doorway,  a sort  of  round 
hall,  a vestibule,  with  steps  leading  up  to  the  bank. 
There’s  a door  in  the  vestibule,  too.  It  leads  some- 
where. We  can  put  men  in  there.  You  can  be 
there.” 

Duane  was  silent. 

“See  here,  Duane,”  began  MacNelly,  nervously. 
“You  sha’n’t  take  any  undue  risk  here.  You’ll  hide 
with  the  rest  of  us?” 

“No!”  The  word  was  wrenched  from  Duane. 

MacNelly  stared,  and  then  a strange,  comprehend- 
ing light  seemed  to  flit  over  his  face. 

“Duane,  I can  give  you  no  orders  to-day,”  he 
said,  distinctly.  “I’m  only  offering  advice.  Need 
354 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


you  take  any  more  risks?  You’ve  done  a grand 
job  for  the  service — already.  You’ve  paid  me  a 
thousand  times  for  that  pardon.  You’ve  redeemed 
yourself.  The  Governor,  the  adjutant  - general — 
the  whole  state  will  rise  up  and  honor  you.  The 
game’s  almost  up.  We’ll  kill  these  outlaws,  or 
enough  of  them  to  break  for  ever  their  power.  I 
say,  as  a ranger,  need  you  take  more  risk  than  your 
captain?” 

Still  Duane  remained  silent.  He  was  locked  be- 
tween two  forces.  And  one,  a tide  that  was  bursting 
at  its  bounds,  seemed  about  to  overwhelm  him. 
Finally  that  side  of  him,  the  retreating  self,  the 
weaker,  found  a voice. 

“Captain,  you  want  this  job  to  be  sure?”  he  asked. 

“Certainly.” 

“I’ve  told  you  the  way.  I alone  know  the  land 
of  men  to  be  met.  Just  what  I’ll  do  or  where  I’ll  be 
I can’t  say  yet.  In  meetings  like  this  the  moment 
decides.  But  I’ll  be  there!” 

MacNelly  spread  wide  his  hands,  looked  help- 
lessly at  his  curious  and  sympathetic  rangers,  and 
shook  his  head. 

“Now  you’ve  done  your  work — laid  the  trap  — 
is  this  strange  move  of  yours  going  to  be  fair  to 
Miss  Longstreth?”  asked  MacNelly,  in  significant 
low  voice. 

Like  a great  tree  chopped  at  the  roots  Duane 
vibrated  to  that.  He  looked  up  as  if  he  had  seen  a 
ghost. 

Mercilessly  the  ranger  captain  went  on:  “You 
can  win  her,  Duane!  Oh,  you  can’t  fool  me.  I was 
wise  in  a minute.  Fight  with  us  from  cover — then 

355 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


go  back  to  her.  You  will  have  served  the  Texas 
Rangers  as  no  other  man  has.  I’ll  accept  your 
resignation.  You’ll  be  free,  honored,  happy.  That 
girl  loves  you!  I saw  it  in  her  eyes.  She’s — ” 

But  Duane  cut  him  short  with  a fierce  gesture. 
He  lunged  up  to  his  feet,  and  the  rangers  fell 
back.  Dark,  silent,  grim  as  he  had  been,  still 
there  was  a transformation  singularly  more  sinister, 
stranger. 

“Enough.  I’m  done,”  he  said,  somberly.  “I’ve 
planned.  Do  we  agree — or  shall  I meet  Poggin  and 
his  gang  alone?” 

MacNelly  cursed  and  again  threw  up  his  hands, 
this  time  in  baffled  chagrin.  There  was  deep  regret 
in  his  dark  eyes  as  they  rested  upon  Duane. 

Duane  was  left  alone. 

Never  had  his  mind  been  so  quick,  so  clear,  so 
wonderful  in  its  understanding  of  what  had  hereto- 
fore been  intricate  and  elusive  impulses  of  his  strange 
nature.  His  determination  was  to  meet  Poggin; 
meet  him  before  any  one  else  had  a chance — Poggin 
first — and  then  the  others!  lie  was  as  unalterable 
in  that  decision  as  if  on  the  instant  of  its  acceptance 
he  had  become  stone. 

Why?  Then  came  realization.  He  was  not  a 
ranger  now.  He  cared  nothing  for  the  state.  He 
had  no  thought  of  freeing  the  community  of  a dan- 
gerous outlaw,  of  ridding  the  country  of  an  obstacle 
to  its  progress  and  prosperity,  tie  wanted  to  kill 
Poggin.  It  was  significant  now  that  he  forgot  the 
other  outlaws.  He  was  the  gunman,  the  gun- 
thrower,  the  gun  - fighter,  passionate  and  terrible. 
His  father’s  blood,  that  dark  and  fierce  strain,  his 

356 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


mother’s  spirit,  that  strong  and  unquenchable  spirit 
of  the  surviving  pioneer — these  had  been  in  him; 
and  the  killings,  one  after  another,  the  wild  and 
haunted  years,  had  made  him,  absolutely  in  spite 
of  his  will,  the  gunman.  He  realized  it  now,  bit- 
terly, hopelessly.  The  thing  he  had  intelligence 
enough  to  hate  he  had  become.  At  last  he  shud- 
dered under  the  driving,  ruthless,  inhuman  blood-lust 
of  the  gunman.  Long  ago  he  had  seemed  to  seal  in 
a tomb  that  horror  of  his  kind — the  need,  in  order 
to  forget  the  haunting,  sleepless  presence  of  his  last; 
victim,  to  go  out  and  kill  another.  But  it  was  still 
there  in  his  mind,  and  now  it  stalked  out,  worse, 
more  powerful,  magnified  by  its  rest,  augmented 
by  the  violent  passions  peculiar  and  inevitable  to 
that  strange,  wild  product  of  the  Texas  frontier — 
the  gun-fighter.  And  those  passions  were  so  violent, 
so  raw,  so  base,  so  much  lower  than  what  ought  to 
have  existed  in  a thinking  man.  Actual  pride  of 
his  record!  Actual  vanity  in  his  speed  with  a gun! 
Actual  jealousy  of  any  rival! 

Duane  could  not  believe  it.  But  there  he  was, 
without  a choice.  What  he  had  feared  for  years 
had  become  a monstrous  reality.  Respect  for  him- 
self, blindness,  a certain  honor  that  he  had  clung  to 
while  in  outlawry — all,  like  scales,  seemed  to  fall 
away  from  him.  He  stood  stripped  bare,  his  soul 
naked — the  soul  of  Cain.  Always  since  the  first 
brand  had  been  forced  and  burned  upon  him  he  had 
been  ruined.  But  now  with  conscience  flayed  to 
the  quick,  yet  utterly  powerless  over  this  tiger  in- 
stinct, he  was  lost.  He  said  it.  He  admitted  it. 
And  at  the  utter  abasement  the  soul  he  despised 

357 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


suddenly  leaped  and  quivered  with  the  thought  of 

Ray  Longstreth. 

Then  came  agony.  As  he  could  not  govern  all 
the  chances  of  this  fatal  meeting — as  all  his  swift 
and  deadly  genius  must  be  occupied  with  Poggin, 
perhaps  in  vain — as  hard-shooting  men  whom  he 
could  not  watch  would  be  close  behind,  this  almost 
certainly  must  be  the  end  of  Buck  Duane.  That 
did  not  matter.  But  he  loved  the  girl.  He  wanted 
her.  All  her  sweetness,  her  fire,  and  pleading  re- 
turned to  torture  him. 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened,  and  Ray  Long- 
streth entered. 

“Duane,”  she  said,  softly.  “Captain  MacNelly 
sent  me  to  you.” 

“But  you  shouldn’t  have  come,”  replied  Duane. 

“As  soon  as  he  told  me  I would  have  come  whether 
he  wished  it  or  not.  You  left  me — all  of  us — stunned. 
I had  no  time  to  thank  you.  Oh,  I do — with  all 
my  soul;  It  was  noble  of  you.  Father  is  overcome. 
He  didn’t  expect  so  much.  And  he’ll  be  true.  But, 
Duane,  I was  told  to  huny,  and  here  I’m  selfishly 
using  time.” 

“Go,  then — and  leave  me.  You  mustn’t  unnerve 
me  now,  when  there’s  a desperate  game  to  finish.” 

“Need  it  be  desperate?”  she  whispered,  coming 
close  to  him. 

“Yes;  it  can’t  be  else.” 

MacNelly  had  sent  her  to  weaken  him;  of  that 
Duane  was  sure.  And  he  felt  that  she  had  wanted 
to  come.  Her  eyes  were  dark,  strained,  beautiful, 
and  they  shed  a light  upon  Duane  he  had  neve? 

seen  before,. 

358 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“You’re  going  to  take  some  mad  risk,"  she  said. 
“Let  me  persuade  you  not  to.  You  said — you  cared 
for  me — and  I — oh.  Duane — don’t  you — know — ?” 

The  low  voice,  deep,  sweet  as  an  old  chord,  fal- 
tered and  broke  and  failed. 

Duane  sustained  a sudden  shock  and  aa  instant 
of  paralyzed  confusion  of  thought. 

She  moved,  she  swept  out  her  hands,  and  the 
wonder  of  her  eyes  dimmed  in  a flood  of  tears. 

“My  God!  You  can’t  care  for  me?”  he  cried, 
hoarsely. 

Then  she  met  him,  hands  outstretched. 

“But  I do— I do!" 

Swift  as  light  Duane  caught  her  and  held  her  te» 
his  breast.  He  stood  holding  her  tight,  with  the 
feel  of  her  warm,  throbbing  breast  and  the  clasp  of 
her  arms  as  flesh  and  blood  realities  to  fight  a terrible 
fear.  He  felt  her,  and  for  the  moment  the  might  of 
it  was  stronger  than  all  the  demons  that  possessed 
him.  And  he  held  her  as  if  she  had  been  his  soul, 
his  strength  on  earth,  his  hope  of  Heaven,  against 
his  lips. 

The  strife  of  doubt  all  passed.  He  found  his  sight 
again.  And  there  rushed  over  him  a tide  of  emotion 
unutterably  sweet  and  full,  strong  like  an  intoxi- 
cating wine,  deep  as  his  nature,  something  glorious 
and  terrible  as  the  blaze  of  the  sun  to  one  long  in 
darkness.  He  had  become  an  outcast,  a wanderer, 
a gunman,  a victim  of  circumstances;  he  had  lost 
and  suffered  worse  than  death  in  that  loss;  he  had 
gone  down  the  endless  bloody  trail,  a killer  of  mep, 
a fugitive  whose  mind  slowly  and  inevitably  closed 
to  all  except  the  instinct  to  survive  and  a black 

£50 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


despair;  and  now,  with  this  woman  in  his  arms,  her 
swelling  breast  against  his,  in  this  moment  almost  of 
resurrection,  he  bent  under  the  storm  of  passion 
and  joy  possible  only  to  him  who  had  endured  so 
much. 

“Do  you  care — a little?”  he  whispered,  unsteadily. 

He  bent  over  her,  looking  deep  into  the  dark  wet 
eyes. 

She  uttered  a low  laugh  that  was  half  sob,  and  her 
arms  slipped  up  to  his  neck. 

“A  little!  Oh,  Duane — Duane — a great  deal!” 

Their  lips  met  in  their  first  kiss.  The  sweetness, 
the  fire  of  her  mouth  seemed  so  new,  so  strange,  so 
irresistible  to  Duane.  His  sore  and  hungry  heart 
throbbed  with  thick  and  heavy  beats.  Pie  felt  the 
outcast’s  need  of  love.  And  he  gave  up  to  the  en- 
thralling moment.  She  met  him  half-way,  returned 
kiss  for  kiss,  clasp  for  clasp,  her  face  scarlet,  her  eyes 
closed,  till,  her  passion  and  strength  spent,  she  fell 
back  upon  his  shoulder. 

Duane  suddenly  thought  she  was  going  to  faint. 
He  divined  then  that  she  had  understood  him, 
would  have  denied  him  nothing,  not  even  her  life, 
in  that  moment.  But  she  was  overcome,  and  hs 
suffered  a pang  of  regret  at  his  unrestraint. 

Presently  she  recovered,  and  she  drew  only  the 
closer,  and  leaned  upon  him  with  her  face  upturned. 
He  felt  her  hands  on  his,  and  they  were  soft,  cling- 
ing, strong,  like  steel  under  velvet.  Pie  felt  the  rise 
and  fall,  the  warmth  of  her  breast.  A tremor  ran 
over  him.  He  tried  to  draw  back,  and  if  he  suc- 
ceeded a little  her  form  swayed  with  him,  pressing 
closer.  She  held  her  face  up,  and  he  was  compelled 

360 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


to  look.  It  was  wonderful  now:  white,  yet  glowing, 
with  the  red  lips  parted,  and  dark  eyes  alluring. 
But  that  was  not  all.  There  was  passion,  unquench- 
able spirit,  woman’s  resolve  deep  and  mighty. 

“I  love  you,  Duane!”  she  said.  ‘‘For  my  sake 
don’t  go  out  to  meet  this  outlaw  face  to  face.  It’s 
something  wild  in  you.  Conquer  it  if  you  love  me.” 

Duane  became  suddenly  weak,  and  when  he  did 
take  her  into  his  arms  again  he  scarcely  had  strength 
to  lift  her  to  a seat  beside  him.  She  seemed  more 
than  a dead  weight.  Her  calmness  had  fled.  She 
was  throbbing,  palpitating,  quivering,  with  hot  wet 
cheeks  and  arms  that  clung  to  him  like  vines.  She 
lifted  her  mouth  to  him,  whispering,  “Kiss  me!” 
She  meant  to  change  him,  hold  him. 

Duane  bent  down,  and  her  arms  went  round  his 
neck  and  drew  him  close.  With  his  lips  on  hers  he 
seemed  to  float  away.  That  kiss  closed  his  eyes, 
and  he  could  not  lift  his  head.  He  sat  motionless, 
holding  her,  blind  and  helpless,  wrapped  in  a sweet 
dark  glory.  She  kissed  him — one  long  endless  kiss — 
or  else  a thousand  times.  Her  lips,  her  wet  cheeks, 
her  hair,  the  softness,  the  fragrance  of  her,  the  ten- 
der clasp  of  her  arms,  the  swell  of  her  breast — all 
these  seemed  to  inclose  him. 

Duane  could  not  put  her  from  him.  He  yielded 
to  her  lips  and  arms,  watching  her,  involuntarily 
returning  her  caresses,  sure  now  of  her  intent,  fas- 
cinated by  the  sweetness  of  her,  bewildered,  almost 
lost.  This  was  what  it  was  to  be  loved  by  a woman. 
His  years  of  outlawry  had  blotted  out  any  boyish 
love  he  might  have  known.  This  was  what  he  had 
to  give  up — all  this  wonder  of  her  sweet  person,  this 

361 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


strange  fire  he  feared  yet  loved,  this  mate  his  deep 
and  tortured  soul  recognized  Never  until  that 
moment  had  he  divined  the  meaning  of  a woman 
to  a man.  That  meaning  was  physical  inasmuch 
that  he  learned  what  beauty  was,  what  marvel  in 
the  touch  of  quickening  flesh;  and  it  was  spiritual 
in  that  he  saw  there  might  have  been  for  him,  under 
happier  circumstances,  a life  of  noble  deeds  lived 
for  such  a woman. 

“Don’t  go!  Don’t  go!”  she  cried,  as  he  started 
violently. 

“I  must.  Dear,  good-by.  Remember  I loved 

you!” 

He  pulled  her  hands  loose  from  his,  stepped  back. 

“Ray,  dearest — I believe — I’ll  come  back!”  he 

whispered. 

These  last  words  were  falsehood. 

He  reached  the  door,  gave  her  one  last  piercing 
glance,  to  fix  for  ever  in  memory  that  white  face 
with  its  dark,  staring,  tragic  eyes. 

“Duane!" 

He  fled  with  that  moan  like  thunder,  death,  hell 
in  his  ears. 

To  forget  her,  to  get  back  his  nerve,  he  forced 
into  mind  the  image  of  Poggin — Poggin,  the  tawny- 
haired,  the  yellow-eyed,  like  a jaguar,  with  his 
rippling  muscles.  He  brought  back  his  sense  of 
the  outlaw’s  wonderful  presence,  his  own  unac- 
countable fear  and  hate.  Yes,  Poggin  had  sent  the 
cold  sickness  of  fear  to  his  marrow.  Why,  since  hb 
hated  life  so?  Poggin  was  his  supreme  test.  And 
this  abnormal  and  stupendous  instinct,  now  deep  as 
the  very  foundation  of  his  life,  demanded  its  wild 

362 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


and  fatal  issue.  There  was  a horrible  thrill  in  his 
sudden  remembrance  that  Poggin  likewise  had  been 
taunted  in  fear  of  him. 

So  the  dark  tide  overwhelmed  Duane,  and  when 
he  left  the  room  he  was  fierce,  implacable,  steeled 
to  any  outcome,  quick  like  a panther,  somber  as 
death,  in  the  thrall  of  his  strange  passion. 

There  was  no  excitement  in  the  street.  He  crossed 
to  the  bank  corner.  A clock,  inside  pointed  the  hour 
of  two.  He  went  through  the  door  into  the  vesti- 
bule, looked  around,  passed  up  the  steps  into  the 
bank.  The  clerks  were  at  their  desks,  apparently 
busy.  But  they  showed  nervousness.  The  cashier 
paled  at  sight  of  Duane.  There  were  men — the 
rangers — crouching  down  behind  the  low  partition. 
All  the  windows  had  been  removed  from  the  iron 
grating  before  the  desks.  The  safe  was  closed.  There 
was  no  money  in  sight.  A customer  came  in,  spoke 
to  the  cashier,  and  was  told  to  come  to-morrow. 

Duane  returned  to  the  door.  He  could  see  far 
down  tire  street,  out  into  the  country.  There  he 
waited,  and  minutes  were  eternities.  He  saw  no 
person  near  him;  he  heard  no  sound.  He  was  in- 
sulated in  his  unnatural  strain. 

At  a few  minutes  before  half  past  two  a dark,  com- 
pact body  of  horsemen  appeared  far  down,  turning 
into  the  road.  They  came  at  a sharp  trot — a group 
that  wrould  have  attracted  attention  anywhere  at 
any  time.  They  came  a little  faster  as  they  entered 
town;  then  faster  still;  now  they  were  four  blocks 
away,  now  three,  now  two.  Duane  backed  down 
the  middle  of  the  vestibule,  up  the  steps,  and  halted 
in  the  center  of  the  wide  doorway. 

363 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


There  seemed  to  be  a rushing  in  his  ears  through 
which  pierced  sharp,  ringing  clip-clop  of  iron  hoofs. 
He  could  see  only  the  corner  of  the  street.  But 
suddenly  into  that  shot  lean-limbed  dusty  bay 
horses.  There  was  a clattering  of  nervous  hoofs 
pulled  to  a halt. 

Duane  saw  the  tawny  Poggin  speak  to  his  com- 
panions. tie  dismounted  quickly.  They  followed 
suit.  They  had  the  manner  of  ranchers  about  to 
conduct  some  business.  No  guns  showed.  Poggin 
started  leisurely  for  the  bank  door,  quickening  step 
a little.  The  others,  close  together,  came  behind 
him.  Blossom  Kane  had  a bag  in  his  left  hand. 
Jim  Fletcher  was  left  at  the  curb,  and  he  had  already 
gathered  up  the  bridles. 

Poggin  entered  the  vestibule  first,  with  Kane  on 
one  side,  Boldt  on  the  other,  a little  in  his  rear. 

As  he  strode  in  he  saw  Duane. 

“Hell’s  Fire!”  he  cried. 

Something  inside  Duane  burst,  piercing  all  of  him 
with  cold.  Was  it  that  fear? 

"Buck  Duane!”  echoed  Kane. 

One  instant  Poggin  looked  up  and  Duane  looked 
down. 

Like  a striking  jaguar  Poggin  moved.  Almost  as 
quickly  Duane  threw  his  aim. 

The  guns  boomed  almost  together. 

Duane  felt  a blow  just  before  he  pulled  trigger. 
His  thoughts  came  fast,  like  the  strange  dots  be- 
fore his  eyes.  His  rising  gun  had  loosened  in  his 
hand.  Poggin  had  drawn  quicker ! A tearing  agony 
encompassed  his  breast.  He  pulled — pulled — at 
random.  Thunder  of  booming  shots  all  abcmt  him  ’ 

364 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


Red  flashes,  jets  of  smoke,  shrill  yells!  He  was 
sinking.  The  end ; yes,  the  end ! With  fading  sight 
he  saw  Kane  go  dov/n,  then  Boldt.  But  supreme 
torture,  bitterer  than  death,  Poggin  stood,  mane 
like  a lion’s,  back  to  the  wall,  bloody-faced,  grand,- 
with  his  guns  spouting  red ! 

All  faded,  darkened.  The  thunder  deadened. 
Duane  fell,  seemed  floating.  There  it  drifted — Ray 
Longstreth’s  sweet  face,  white,  with  dark,  tragic 
eyes,  fading  from  his  sight . . . fading  . . . fading  . . . 


CHAPTER  XXV 


LIGHT  shone  before  Duane’s  eyes — thick,  strange 
light  that  came  and  went.  For  a long  time 
dull  and  booming  sounds  rushed  by,  filling  all.  It 
was  a dream  in  which  there  was  nothing;  a drifting 
under  a burden;  darkness,  light,  sound,  movement; 
and  vague,  obscure  sense  of  time — time  that  was 
very  long.  There  was  fire — creeping,  consuming  fire. 
A dark  cloud  of  flame  enveloped  him,  rolled  him 
away. 

He  saw  then,  dimly,  a room  that  was  strange, 
strange  people  moving  about  over  him,  with  faint 
voices,  far  away,  things  in  a dream.  He  saw  again, 
clearly,  and  consciousness  returned,  still  unreal,  still 
, strange,  full  of  those  vague  and  far-away  things. 
Then  he  was  not  dead.  He  lay  stiff,  like  a stone, 
with  a weight  ponderous  as  a mountain  upon  him 
and  all  his  bound  body  racked  in  slow,  dull-beating 
agony. 

A woman’s  face  hovered  over  him,  white  and 
tragic-eyed,  like  one  of  his  old  haunting  phantoms, 
yet  sweet  and  eloquent.  Then  a man’s  face  bent 
over  him,  looked  deep  into  his  eyes,  and  seemed 
to  whisper  from  a distance:  “Duane — Duane!  Ah, 
he  knew  me!” 

After  that  there  was  another  long  interval  of 
darkness.  When  the  light  came  again,  clearer  this 

‘366 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


time,  the  same  earnest-faced  man  bent  over  him. 
It  was  MacNelly.  And  with  recognition  the  past 
flooded  back. 

Duane  tried  to  speak.  His  lips  were  weak,  and 
he  could  scarcely  move  them. 

“Poggin!”  he  whispered.  His  first  real  conscious 
thought  was  for  Poggin.  Ruling  passion — eternal 
instinct ! 

“Poggin  is  dead,  Duane;  shot  to  pieces,”  replied 
MacNelly,  solemnly.  “What  a fight  he  made!  Pie 
killed  two  of  my  men,  wounded  others.  God!  he 
was  a tiger.  He  used  up  three  guns  before  we  downed 

him.” 

' ‘ Who — got — away  ? ’ ’ 

“Fletcher,  the  man  with  the  horses.  We  downed 
all  the  others.  Duane,  the  job’s  done — it’s  done! 
Why,  man,  you’re — ” 

“What  of— of —her?” 

“Miss  Longstreth  has  been  almost  constantly  at 
your  bedside.  She  helped  the  doctor.  She  watched 
your  wounds.  And,  Duane,  the  other  night,  when 
you  sank  low — so  low — I think  it  was  her  spirit 
that  held  yours  back.  Oh,  she’s  a wonderful  girl. 
Duane,  she  never  gave  up,  never  lost  her  nerve 
for  a moment.  Well,  we’re  going  to  take  you 
home,  and  she’ll  go  with  us.  Colonel  Longstreth 
left  for  Louisiana  right  after  the  fight.  I advised  it. 
There  was  great  excitement.  It  was  best  for  him 
to  leave.” 

“Have  I — a — chance — to  recover?” 

“Chanee?  Why,  man,”  exclaimed  the  Captain, 
“you’ll  get  well!  You’ll  pack  a sight  of  lead  all 
your  Mfe.  But  you  can  stand  that.  Duane,  the 

367 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

whole  Southwest  knows  your  story.  You  need 
never  again  be  ashamed  of  the  name  Bock  Duane. 
The  brand  outlaw  is  washed  out.  Texas  believes 
you’ve  been  a secret  ranger  ail  the  time.  You’re  a 
hero.  And  now  think  of  home,  your  mother,  of 
this  noble  girl — of  your  future.” 

The  rangers  took  Duane  home  to  Wellston. 

A railroad  had  been  built  since  Duane  had  gone 
into  exile.  Wellston  had  grown.  A noisy  crowd 
surrounded  the  station,  but  it  stilled  as  Duane  was 
carried  from  the  train. 

A sea  of  faces  pressed  close.  Some  were  faces  he 
remembered  — schoolmates,  friends,  old  neighbors. 
There  was  an  upflinging  of  many  hands.  Duane  was 
being  welcomed  home  to  the  town  from  which  he 
had  fled.  A deadness  within  him  broke.  This  wel- 
come hurt  him  somehow,  quickened  him;  and 
through  his  cold  being,  his  weary  mind,  passed  a 
change.  His  sight  dimmed. 

Then  there  was  a white  house,  his  old  home. 
How  strange,  yet  how  real!  His  heart  beat  fast. 
Had  so  many,  many  years  passed?  Familiar  yet 
strange  it  was,  and  all  seemed  magnified. 

They  carried  him  in,  these  ranger  comrades,  and 
laid  him  down,  and  lifted  his  head  upon  pillowrs. 
The  house  was  still,  though  full  of  people.  Duane’s 
gaze  sought  the  open  door. 

Some  one  entered — a tall  girl  in  white,  with  dark, 
wet  eyes  and  a light  upon  her  face.  She  was  leading  an 
old  lady,  gray-haired,  austere-faced,  somber  and  sad. 
His  mother!  She  was  feeble,  but  she  walked  erect. 
.She  was  pale,  shaking,  yet  maintained  her  dignity. 

'368 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


The  some  one  in  white  uttered  a low  cry  and  knelt 
by  Duane’s  bed.  His  mother  flung  wide  her  arms 
with  a strange  gesture. 

“This  man!  They’ve  not  brought  back  my  boy. 
This  man’s  his  father!  Where  is  my  son?  My 
son — oh,  my  son!” 

When  Duane  grew  stronger  it  was  a pleasure  to 
lie  by  the  west  window  and  watch  Uncle  Jim  whittle 
his  stick  and  listen  to  his  talk.  The  old  man  was 
broken  now.  He  told  many  interesting  things  about 
people  Duane  had  known — people  who  had  grown 
up  and  married,  failed,  succeeded,  gone  away,  and 
died.  But  it  was  hard  to  keep  Uncle  Jim  off  the 
subject  of  guns,  outlaws,  fights.  He  could  not  seem 
to  divine  how  mention  of  these  things  hurt  Duane. 
Uncle  Jim  was  childish  now,  and  he  had  a great 
pride  in  his  nephew.  He  wanted  to  hear  of  all  of 
Duane’s  exile.  And  if  there  was  one  thing  more 
than  another  that  pleased  him  it  was  to  talk  about 
the  bullets  which  Duane  carried  in  his  body. 

“Five  bullets,  ain’t  it?”  he  asked,  for  the  hun- 
dredth time.  “Five  in  that  last  scrap!  By  gum! 
And  you  had  six  before?” 

“Yes,  uncle,”  replied  Duane. 

“Five  and  six.  That  makes  eleven.  By  gum!  A 
man’s  a man,  to  carry  all  that  lead.  But,  Buck, 
you  could  carry  more.  There's  that  nigger  Edwards, 
right  here  in  Wellston.  He’s  got  a ton  of  bullets  in 
him.  Doesn’t  seem  to  mind  them  none.  And  there’s 
Cole  Miller.  I’ve  seen  him.  Been  a bad  man  in 
his  day.  They  say  he  packs  twenty-three  bullets. 
But  he’s  bigger  than  you — got  more  flesh.  . . . 

369 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


P'unny,  wasn’t  it,  Buck,  about  the  doctor  only  bein' 
able  to  cut  one  bullet  out  of  you — that  one  in  your 
breast-bone  ? It  was  a forty-one  caliber,  an  unusual 
cartridge.  I saw  it,  and  I wanted  it,  but  Mis6  Long- 
streth  wouldn’t  part  with  it.  Buck,  there  was  a 
bullet  left  in  one  of  Poggin’s  guns,  and  that  bullet 
was  the  same  kind  as  the  one  cut  out  of  you.  By 
gum ! Boy,  i t ’d  have  killed  you  if  it ’d  stayed  there.” 

“It  would  indeed,  uncle,”  replied  Duane,  and  the 
old,  haunting,  somber  mood  returned. 

But  Duane  was  not  often  at  the  mercy  of  childish 
old  hero-worshiping  Uncle  Jim.  Miss  Longstreth 
was  the  only  person  who  seemed  to  divine  Duane’s 
gloomy  mood,  and  when  she  was  with  him  she  warded 
off  all  suggestion. 

One  afternoon,  while  she  was  there  at  the  west 
window,  a message  came  for  him.  They  read  it 
together. 

You  have  saved  the  ranger  service  to  the  Lone  Star  State. 

MacNeixy. 

Ray  knelt  beside  him  at  the  window,  and  he  be- 
lieved she  meant  to  speak  then  of  the  thing  they 
had  shunned.  Her  face  was  still  white,  but  sweeter 
now,  warm  with  rich  life  beneath  the  marble;  and 
her  dark  eyes  were  still  intent,  still  haunted  by 
shadows,  but  no  longer  tragic. 

“I’m  glad  for  MacNelly’s  sake  as  well  as  the 
state’s,”  said  Duane. 

She  made  no  reply  to  that  and  seemed  to  be  think- 
ing deeply.  Duane  shrank  a little. 

“The  pain — Is  it  any  worse  to-day?”  she  asked, 
instantly. 


37o 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“No;  it’s  the  same.  It  will  always  be  the  same. 
I’m  full  of  lead,  you  know.  But  I don’t  mind  a 
little  pain.” 

“Then  — it’s  the  old  mood  — the  fear?”  she 
whispered.  “Tell  me.” 

“Yes.  It  haunts  me.  I’ll  be  well  soon — able  to 
go  out.  Then  that — that  hell  will  come  back!” 

“No,  no!”  she  said,  with  emotion. 

“Some  drunken  cowboy,  some  fool  with  a gun, 
will  hunt  me  out  in  every  town,  wherever  I go,” 
he  went  on,  miserably.  “Buck  Duane!  To  kill 
Buck  Duane!” 

“Hush!  Don’t  speak  so.  Listen.  You  re- 
member that  day  in  Val  Verde,  when  I came  to 
you — plead  with  you  not  to  meet  Poggin?  Oh, 
that  was  a terrible  hour  for  me.  But  it  showed  me 
the  truth.  I saw  the  struggle  between  your  passion 
to  kill  and  your  love  for  me.  I could  have  saved 
you  then  had  I known  what  I know  now.  Now  I 
understand  that — that  thing  which  haunts  you. 
But  you’ll  never  have  to  draw  again.  You’ll  never 
have  to  kill  another  man,  thank  God!” 

Like  a drowning  man  he  would  have  grasped  at 
straws,  but  he  could  not  voice  his  passionate  query. 

She  put  tender  arms  round  his  neck.  “Because 
you’ll  have  me  with  you  always,”  she  replied. 
“Because  always  I shall  be  between  you  and  that — 
that  terrible  thing.” 

It  seemed  with  the  spoken  thought  absolute  as- 
surance of  her  power  came  to  her.  Duane  realized 
instantly  that  he  was  in  the  arms  of  a stronger 
woman  than  she  who  had  plead  with  him  that  fatal 
day. 


37i 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


“We’ll — we’ll  be  married  and  leave  Texas,”  she 
said,  softly,  with  the  red  blood  rising  rich  and  dark 
in  her  cheeks. 

“Ray!” 

“Yes  we  will,  though  you’re  laggard  in  asking  me, 
sir.” 

“But,  dear — suppose,”  he  replied,  huskily,  “sup- 
pose there  might  be — be  children — a boy.  A boy 
with  his  father’s  blood!” 

“I  pray  God  there  will  be.  I do  not  fear  what  you 
fear.  But  even  so — he’ll  be  half  my  blood.” 

Duane  felt  the  storm  rise  and  break  in  him.  And 
his  terror  was  that  of  joy  quelling  fear.  The  shin- 
ing glory  of  love  in  this  woman’s  eyes  made  him 
weak  as  a child.  How  could  she  love  him — how 
could  she  so  bravely  face  a future  with  him?  Yet 
she  held  him  in  her  arms,  twining  her  hands  round 
his  neck,  and  pressing  close  to  him.  Her  faith  and 
love  and  beauty — these  she  meant  to  throw  be- 
tween him  and  all  that  terrible  past.  They  were 
her  power,  and  she  meant  to  use  them  all.  He  dared 
not  think  of  accepting  her  sacrifice. 

“But  Ray — you  dear,  noble  girl — I’m  poor.  I 
have  nothing.  And  I’m  a cripple.” 

“Oh,  you’ll  be  well  some  day,”  she  replied.  “And 
listen.  I have  money.  My  mother  left  me  well  off. 
All  she  had  was  her  father’s — Do  you  under- 
stand? We’ll  take  Uncle  Jim  and  your  mother. 
We’ll  go  to  Louisiana — to  my  old  home.  It’s  far 
from  here.  There’s  a plantation  to  work.  There 
are  horses  and  cattle — a great  cypress  forest  to  cut. 
Oh,  you’ll  have  much  to  do.  You’ll  forget  there. 
You’ll  learn  to  love  my  home.  It’s  a beautiful  old 

372 


THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 


place.  There  are  groves  where  the  gray  moss  blows 
all  day  and  the  nightingales  sing  all  night.” 

“My  darling!”  cried  Duane,  brokenly.  “No,  no. 
no!” 

Yet  he  knew  in  his  heart  that  he  was  yielding  to 
her,  that  he  could  not  resist  her  a moment  longer. 
What  was  this  madness  of  love? 

“We’ll  be  happy,”  she  whispered.  “Oh,  I know. 
Come ! — come ! — come !” 

Her  eyes  were  closing,  heavy-lidded,  and  she 
lifted  sweet,  tremulous,  waiting  lips. 

With  bursting  heart  Duane  bent  to  them.  Then 
he  held  her,  close  pressed  to  him,  while  with  dim 
eyes  he  looked  out  over  the  line  of  low  hills  in  the 
west,  down  where  the  sun  was  setting  gold  and  red, 
down  over  the  Nueces  and  the  wild  brakes  of  the 
Rio  Grande  which  he  was  never  to  see  again. 

It  was  in  this  solemn  and  exalted  moment  that 
Duane  accepted  happiness  and  faced  new  life,  trust- 
ing this  brave  and  tender  woman  to  be  stronger 
than  the  dark  and  fateful  passion  that  had  shad- 
owed his  past. 

It  would  come  back — that  wind  of  flame,  that 
madness  to  forget,  that  driving,  relentless  instinct  for 
blood.  It  would  come  back  with  those  pale,  drifting, 
haunting  faces  and  the  accusing  fading  eyes,  but 
all  his  life,  always  between  them  and  him,  rendering 
them  powerless,  would  be  the  faith  and  love  and 
beauty  of  this  noble  woman. 


THE  END 


✓ 


\ 


ZANE^G  REYTS~NO  V ELS 

$sy  bs  h*t3  vvheram  books  ara  sold.  Ask  fcr  Grcsset  & Bunlap’s  list 


THE  LIGHT  OF  WESTERN  STARS 

A New  York  society  girl  bays  a ranch  which  becomes  the  center  of  frontier  war- 
fare. Her  loyal  superintendent  rescues  her  when  she  is  captured  by  bandits*  A 
surprising-  climax  brings  the  story  to  a delightful  close. 

THE  RAINBOW  TRAIL 

The  story  of  a young  clergyman  who  uecorce^  a wanderer  in  the  great  westers 
uplands— until  at  last  love  and  faith  awake. 

DESERT  GOLD 

The  story  describes  the  recent  uprismg  along  the  border*  an  d ends  with  the  finding 
of  the  gold  which  two  prospectors  had  wiiled  to  the  girl  who  is  the  story’s  heroine. 

RIDERS  OF  THE  PURPLE  SAGE 

A picturesque  romance  of  Utah  of  some  forty  years  ago  when  Mormon  authority 
ruled.  The  prosecution  of  Jane  Withersteen  is  die  theme  of  the  story. 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  PLAINSMEN 

This  is  the  record  of  a t-rip  which  the  author  took  with  Buffalo  Jones,  known  as  the 
preserver  of  the  American  bison,  across  the  Arizona  desert  and  of  a boat  iu  “that 
wonderful  country  of  deep  canons  and  giant  Dines.” 

THE  HERITAGE  OF  THE  DESERT 

A lovely  grirl,  who  has  been  reared  among  Mormons,  learns  to  love  a young  New 
Englander.  The  Mormon  religion,  however,  demands  that  the  girl  shall  become 
the  second  wife  of  one  of  the  Mormons— Weil,  that’s  the  problem  of  this  great  story, 

THE  SHORT  STOP 

The  young  hero,  tiring  ot  his  factory  grind,  starts  out  to  win  fame  and  fortune  as 
4 professional  ball  player.  His  hard  knocks  at  the  start  are  followed  by  such  success 
as  clean  sportsmanship,  courage  and  honesty  ought  to  win. 

BETTY  ZANE 

This  story  tells  of  the  bravery  and  heroism  of  Betty,  the  beautiful  young  sister  ol 
old  Colonel  Zane,  one  of  the  bravest  pioneers. 

THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

After  killing  a man  in  seif  defense,  Buck  Duane  becomes  an  outlaw  along  the 
Texas  border.  In  a camp  on  the  Mexican  side  of  the  river,  he  finds  a young  girl  held 
prisoner,  and  in  attempting  to  rescue  her,  brings  down  upon  himself  the  wrath  of  her 
captors  and  henceforth  is  hunted  on  one  side  by  ..,/nest  men,  on  the  cither  by  outlaws. 

THE  BORDER  LEGION 

Joan  Randle,  in  a spirit  of  anger,  sent  Jim  Cleve  out  to  a lawless  Western  mining 
camp,  to  prove  his  mettle.  Then  realizing  that  she  loved  him-— she  followed  him  out. 
On  her  way,  she  is  captured  by  a bandit  band,  and  trouble  begins  when  she  shoots 
Kells,  the  leade  r— and  nurse3  him  to  health  again.  Here  enters  another  romance— 
»hen  Joan,  disguised  as  an  outlaw,  observes  Jim,  in  the  throes  of  dissipation.  A gold 
Strike,  a thrilling  robbery— gambling  and  gun  play  carry  you  along  breathlessly. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  GREAT  SCOURS, 

By  Helen  Cody  Wetmore  and  Zane  Grey 

The  life  story  of  Colonel  William  F.  Cody,  “ Buffalo  Bill,”  as  told  by  his  sister  and 
Zane  Grey.  It  begins  with  iris  boyhood  in  Iowa  and  his  first  encounter  with  an  In- 
dian. We  see  w Bill”  as  a pony  express  rider,  then  near  Fort  Sumter  as  Chief  ol 
the  Scouts,  and  later  engaged  in  the  most  dangerous  Indian  campaigns.  There  is 
also  a very  interesting  account  of  the  travels  of  “The  Wild  West”  Show.  No  char- 
acter In  public  life  makes  a stronger  appeal  to  the  imagination  of  America  than 
“ Buffalo  Bill,”  whose  daring  and  bravery  made  him  famous.  

(jRossET  & Dunlap,  Publishers,  New  York 


JOHN  FOX,  JR’S. 

STORIES  OF  THE  KENTUCKY  MOUNTAINS 

fitay  Sjb  had  wherever  bocks  are  sold.  Ask  for  Crosset  and  Dunlap’s  Gist. 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  LONESOME  PINE. 

Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Ychn. 

The  “lonesome  pine”  from  which  the 
story  takes  its  name  was  a tall  tree  that 
stood  m solitary  splendor  on  a mountain 
top.  The  fame  of  the  pine  lured  a young 
engineer  through  Kentucky  to  catch  the 
trail,  and  when  he  finally  climbed  to  its 
shelter  he  found  not  only  the  pine  but  the 
footprints  of  a girl . And  the  girl  proved 
to  be  lovely,  piquant,  and  the  trail  of 
these  girlish  foot-prints  led  the  young 
engineer  a madder  chase  than  “the  trail 
of  the  lonesome  pine.” 

THE  LITTLE  SHEPHERD  OF  KINGDOM  COME 
illustrated  by  F„  C.  Yohn. 

This  is  a story  of  Kentucky,  in  a settlement  known  as  “King- 
dom Come.”  It  is  a life  rude,  semi-barbarous;  but  natural 
and  honest,  from  which  often  springs  the  dower  of  civilization. 

“ Chad.”  the  “little  shepherd”  did  not  know  who  he  was  nor 
whence  he  came— he  had  just  wandered  from  door  to  door  since 
«*arly  childhood,  seeking  shelter  with  kindly  mountaineers  who 
gladly  fathered  and  mothered  this  waif  about  whom  there  was 
such  a mystery — a charming  waif,  by  the  way,  who  could  play 
the  banjo  better  that  anyone  else  in  the  mountains* 

A KNIGHT  OF  THE  CUMBERLAND. , 

Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Y ohn. 

The  scenes  are  laid  along  the  waters  of  the  Cumberland* 
the  lair  of  moonshiner  and  feudsman.  The  knight  is  a moon- 
shiner’s son,  and  the  heroine  a beautiful  girl  perversely  chris- 
tened “The  Blight.”  Two  impetuous  young  Southerners’  fall 
tinder  the  spell  of  “The  Blight’s  ” charms  and  she  learns  what 
a large  part  jealousy  and  pistols  have  in  the  love  making  of  the, 
mountaineers.  j 

Included  in  this  volume  is  “ Hell  fer-Sartain”  and  other 
stories,  some  of  Mr.  Fox’s  most  entertaining  Cumberland  valley 
narratives. 


Ash  for  complete  free  list  of  G.  & D.  Popular  Copyrighted  Fiction 


Grosset  & Dunlap,  526  West  26th  Sr.,  New  York 

-| ( ,,|  ' — — " 


JACK,  LONDON’S  X 3VELS 

May  fes  had  wherevsr  hooks  ars  srtld.  As£  ter  firosset  & Dunlap’s  list 


JOHN  BARLEYCORN.  Illustrated  by  H.  T.  Dunn. 

This  remarkable  book  is  a record  of  the  author’s  own  amazing 
experiences.  This  big,  brawny  world  rover,  who  has  been  ac- 
quainted with  alcohol  from  boyhood,  comes  out  boldly  against  John 
Barleycorn.  It  is  a string  of  exciting  adventures,  yet  it  forcefully 
conveys  an  unforgetable  idea  and  makes  a typical  Jack  London  book, 
THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  MOON.  Frontispiece  by  George  Harper. 

The  story  opens  in  the  city  slums  where  Billy  Roberts,  teamster 
and  ex-prize  fighter,  and  Saxon  Brown,  launcirv  worker,  meet  and 
love  and  marry.  They  tramp  from  one  end  California  to  the 
other,  and  m the  Valley  of  the  Moon  find  tb^  *arm  paradise  that  is 
to  be  their  salvation. 

BURNING  DAYLIGHT.  Four  illustrations. 

The  story  ot  an  adventurer  who  went  to  Alaska  and  lai*  the 
foundations  of  his  fortune  before  tne  gold  hunters  arrived.  Bringing 
his  fortunes  to  the  States  he  is  cheated  out  of  it  by  a crowd  of  money 
kings,  and  recovers  it  only  at  the  muzzle  of  his  gun.  He  then  starts 
out  as  a merciless  exploiter  on  his  own  account.  Finally  he  takes  to 
drinking  and  becomes  a picture  of  degeneration.  About  this  time 
he  falls  in  love  with  his  stenographer  and  wins  her  heart  but  not 
her  hand  and  then— but  read  tne  story! 

A SON  OF  THE  SUN.  Illustrated  by  A.  O.  Fischer  and  C.  W.  Ashley. 

David  Grief  was  once  a light-haired,  blue-eyed  youth  who  came 
from  England  to  the  South  Seas  in  search  of  adventure.  Tanned 
like  a native  and  as  lithe  as  a tiger,  he  became  a real  son  of  the  sun. 
The  life  appealed  to  him  and  he  remained  and  became  very  wealthy. 
THE  CALL  OF  THE  WILD.  Illustrations  by  Philip  R.  Goodwin  and 
Cnarles  Livingston  Bull.  Decorations  by  Charles  E.  Hooper. 

A book  of  dog  adventures  as  exciting  as  any  man’s  exploits 
could  be.  Here  is  excitement  to  stir  the  blood  and  here  is  pictur* 
esque  color  to  transport  the  reader  to  primitive  scenes. 

THE  SEA  WOLF.  Illustrated  by  W.  J.  Aylward. 

Told  by  a man  whom  Fate  suddenly  swings  from  his  fastidious 
life  into  the  power  of  th*»  brutal  captain  of  a sealing  schooner.  A 
novel  of  adventure  warmed  by  a beautiful  love  episode  that  every 
reader  will  hail  with  delight. 

WHITE  FANG.  Illustrated  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

“White  Fang”  is  part  dog,  part  wolf  and  all  brute,  living  in  the 
frozen  north ; he  gradual!/  comes  under  the  spell  of  man’s  com- 
panionship, and  surrenders  all  at  the  last  in  a fight  with  a bull  dog. 
Thereafter  he  is  man’s  loving  slave.  < 


Grosset  & Dunlap*  Publishers,  New  York 


NOVELS  OF  FRONTIER  LIFE  BY 

WILLIAM  MacLEOD  RAINE 


May  bo  had  wherever  bocks  ars  sold.  Ask  for  Grosset  & Cur.lap’s  Pst. 


MAVERICKS 

A tale  of  the  western  frontier,  where  the  “ rustler”  abounds.  One  of  the  sweetest 
love  stories  ever  told. 

A TEXAS  RANGER 

How  a member  of  the  border  police  saved  the  life  of  an  Innocent  man,  followed  a 
fugitive  to  Wyoming-,  and  then  passed  through  deadly  peril  to  ultimate  happiness. 

WYOMING 

In  this  vivid  story  the  author  brings  out  the  turbid  life  of  the  frontier  with  all  its 
engaging  dash  and  vigor. 

RIDGWAY  OF  MONTANA 

The  scene  is  laid  in  the  mining  centers  of  Montana,  where  politics  and  mining  in- 
dustries are  the  religion  of  the  country. 

BUCKY  O’CONNER 

Every  chapter  teems  with  wholesome,  stirring  adventures,  replete  with  the  dashing 
spirit  of  the  border. 

CROOKED  TRAILS  AND  STRAIGHT 

A story  of  Arizona  ; of  swift-riding  men  and  daring  outlaws ; of  a bitter  feud  be- 
tween cattle-men  and  sheep-herders. 

BR  AND  TV  OTTERS 

A story  of  the  turbid  life  of  the  frontier  with  a charming  love  interest  running 
through  its  pages. 

STEVE  YEAGER 

A story  brimful  of  excitement,  with  enough  gun-play  and  adventure  to  suit  anyone. 

A DAUGHTER  OF  TTIE  DONS 

A Western  story  of  romance  and  adventure,  comprising  a vivacious  and  stirring 
tale. 

THE  HIGH  GRADER 

A breezy,  pleasant  and  amusing  love  story  of  Western  mining  life. 

THE  PIRATE  OF  PANAMA 

A tale  of  old-time  pirates  and  of  modern  love,  hate  and  adventure. 

THE  YUKON  TRAJT, 

A crisply  entertaining  love  story  in  the  land  where  might  makes  right. 

THE  VISION  SPDENDIP 

In  which  two  cousins  are  contestants  for  the  same  prizes;  political  honors  and  the 
hand  of  a girl. 

THE  SHERIFFS  SON 

The  hero  finally  conquers  both  himself  and  his  enemies  and  wins  the  love  of  a 
wonderful  girl. 


Grosset  & Dunlap,  Publishers,  New  York 


Ainiovj  Auv^an 

JL33H1SWO 

K0IVdlWH0-VNV8Hn  IV 

AHvaen  siowmi 

JO  AIISH3AMH  1 


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